THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

Mary  Randall 


/ 


'IF    I    CANNOT  HAVE  FAIR  ROSAMOND,  I*LL  HAVE  NONE.'" 

[Page  189- 


TO  RIGHT  THE  WRONG 


H  1Ro\>el 


BY 


EDNA    LYALL 

AUTHOR   OF 
"IN   THE   GOLDEN   DAYS  "    "DONOVAN"   ETC. 


"  But  were   it  the   meanest  under-service,  if  God  by  His  secretary 
conscience  enjoin  it,  it  were  sad  for  me  if  I  should  draw  back" — MILTON 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
1894 


Copyright,  1893,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


GIFT 


In  one  sense,  indeed,  what  is  gained  by  any  great  religious  movement  ? 
What  are  all  reforms,  restorations,  victories  of  truth,  but  protests  of  a 
minority :  efforts  clogged  and  incomplete,  of  the  good  and  brave,  just  enough 
in  their  own  day  to  stop  instant  ruin — the  appointed  means  to  save  what  is 
to  be  saved,  but  in  themselves  failures  ?  Good  men  woi'k  and  suffer,  and 
bad  men  enjoy  their  labours  and  spoil  them  ;  a  step  is  made  in  advance — 
evil  rolled  back  and  kept  in  check  for  a  while,  only  to  return  perhaps  the 
stronger.  But  thus,  and  thus  only,  is  truth  passed  on,  and  the  icor Id  pre- 
served from  titter  corruption. — DEAN  CHURCH  ("  Ansel 'HI  "). 


M354J.59 


PREFACE 


THE  attempt  made  in  these  pages  to  sketch  the  character  of  John 
Hampden  has  been  a  task  of  much  difficulty,  owing  to  the  scanty 
memorials  of  the  great  patriot  which  have  been  left  Nugent's 
Life  of  Hampden,  Forster's  short  Biography  in  his  Statesmen  of  the 
Commonwealth,  and  the  brief  character-sketches  of  Clarendon, 
Echard,  and  others,  leave  one  hungering  for  more.  Having 
learned  from  Professor  Gardiner  that  the  accounts  of  Hampden's 
last  moments  given  in  almost  all  histories  are  now  found  to  be 
incorrect,  as  they  were  based  on  Clough's  untrustworthy  pamphlet, 
I  have  ignored  them,  and  have  ventured  to  assume  that  his  friend 
Arthur  Goodwin  was,  as  he  himself  imagined,  the  last  to  speak 
with  him.  In  Webb's  Civil  War  in  Herefordshire  the  following 
letter  is  given  from  Arthur  Goodwin  to  his  daughter,  Lady  Whar- 
ton :  "  I  am  now  heere  at  Hampden  in  doinge  the  last  duty  for  the 
deceased  owner  of  it,  of  whome  every  honest  man  hath  a  share  in 
the  losse,  and  therefore  will  likewise  in  the  sorrowe.  All  his 
thoughts  and  endeavours  of  his  life  was  zealously  in  for  this 
cause  for  God's,  which  he  continued  in  all  his  sickness,  even  to 
his  death ;  for  all  I  can  heere  the  last  words  he  spake  was  to 
mee,  though  he  lived  six  or  seven  bowers  after  I  came  away  as 
in  a'sleepe:  truly,  Jenny  (and  I  know  you  may  easily  be  persuad- 
ed to  it),  he  was  a  gallant  man,  an  honest  man,  an  able  man,  and  take 
all,  I  know  not  to  any  man  living  second.  God  in  mercy  hath  re- 
warded him.  ...  I  have  writ  to  London  for  a  blacke  suite.  I  pray 
lett  mee  begg  of  you  a  broad  black  ribbon  to  hange  about  my 
standarde.  ...  I  would  we  could  all  lay  it  to  heart,  that  God 
takes  away  the  best  amongst  us." 

The  Earl  of  Buckinghamshire  (who  kindly  showed  me  many 
things  connected  with  his  ancestor)  still  has  in  his  possession  a 
sixteenth-century  chalice  bearing  the  inscription,  "  From  this  cup 
John  Hampden  received  the  consecrated  wine  at  the  hands  of  Robert 


VI 

Lenthall,  Rector  of  Great  Hampden,"  and  as  it  appears  from  the 
Church  Register  that  Lenthall  was  not  formally  inducted  till  the 
3oth  November,  1643,  but  was  apparently  in  charge  of  the  parish  in 
June,  it  may,  perhaps,  be  fairly  conjectured  that  the  inscription  on 
the  chalice  refers  to  Hampden's  last  sacrament. 

Through  the  kindness  of  the  Bishop  of  Durham  and  of  Colonel 
Waller  I  have  been  able  to  study  the  Letters,  Aphorisms,  and 
Sermons  of  Whichcote,  and  the  I/indication  and  Divine  Meditations 
of  Sir  William  Waller ;  of  these  memorials  I  have  made  free  use 
for  the  conversations  in  which  the  two  writers  take  part.  I  am 
also  much  indebted  to  Mr.  Hyett,  of  Painswick  House,  for  his  in- 
teresting pamphlet,  Gloucester  and  her  Governor  during  the  Great  Civil 
War,  and  for  the  kind  loan  of  Bib/iotbeca  Gloucestrensis ;  while  to 
Canon  Venables  I  owe  much  information  about  Lincoln  in  olden 
days.  The  fresco,  named  "The  Ladder  of  Salvation"  or  the 
"Ladder  of  Life,"  mentioned  in  chapter  xxxix,  may  now  be  seen 
in  Chaldon  Church,  near  Katterham,  the  whitewash  having  some 
years  ago  been  removed ;  and  the  pamphlet,  quoted  in  the  same 
chapter,  was  published  anonymously  in  the  time  of  the  Common- 
wealth. 

I  should  like  to  add  that,  in  common  with  all  students  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  I  feel  under  the  deepest  obligation  to  Pro- 
fessor Gardiner  for  his  History  of  the  Great  Civil  War,  and  own 
him,  indeed,  my  special  thanks  for  a  book  which  cheered  many 
tedious  hours  of  illness. 

EDNA  LYALL. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  '  IF  I  CANNOT  HAVE  FAIR  ROSAMOND,  I*LL  HAVE 

NONE.'" Frontispiece. 

"'WILL  YOU  GIVE  ME  YOUR  HELP  AND  ADVICE  AS  TO 

THESE  DIAMONDS?'" Facing  p.  24 

"TO    DICK'S   UNBOUNDED   ASTONISHMENT,   HE    SOBBED 

LIKE  A  CHILD" "  32 

"'THEN  KLSS  ME,  MOTHER,'  HE  SAID.  'FOR  THIS  IS 

OUR  LAST  MEETING'" "  48 

"STOLE  NOISELESSLY  UP  TO  ONE  OF  THE  WINDOWS"  .  "  60 
"THEY  PROCEEDED  TO  DISCUSS  VARIOUS  HOUSES  WHERE 

ARMS  MIGHT  POSSIBLY  BE  OBTAINED*' "  88 

"A  GLORIOUS  PLAIN  LAY  BENEATH  HIM" "  Q2 

"WE  BOTH  LISTENED  INTENTLY" "  IOO 

"'HELP,  HELP,'  MOANED  A  WOUNDED  MAN"  ....  "  130 

"A  BULLET  STRUCK  JOSCELYN*S  HORSE" "  152 

"'CLUTCHING  FOR  SUPPORT  AT  THE  MANE  OF  THE 

HORSE" "  156 

"'THEY  SAID  THEY  WERE  NOT  TORTURING  ME'"  .  .  "  166 

"'YOU  SHALL  HAVE  A  PLACE  IN  MY  TROOP '"  ...  "  1 70 

"'BARNABY,  I  AM  WEARY  OF  TROUBLES'" 182 

"SHE  JOGGED  ALONG  THE  COUNTRY  ROADS  ON  HER 

PILLION" "  184 

"SHE  CLUNG  TO  HIM,  TREMBLING" "  188 

"  HE  ENCOUNTERED  MORRISON  HIMSELF  FULLY  DRESSED  "  "  204 


"'YOU    CURSED    REBEL!      HOW    DARE    YOU    SET    FOOT   IN 

MY    HOUSE?'" Facing  p.  2O8 

"'NO  VAGABOND  MINSTRELS  SHOULD  BE  ADMITTED*"  .  "  2l8 
"JOSCELYN  TALKED  EAGERLY  TO  THE  QUAINT  LITTLE 

MESSENGER" "  222 

"'WHAT  CAN  SUCH  A  DAY  BE  LIKE?"' "  266 

"'EVERY  ONE  FOR  HIMSELF  AND  GOD  FOR  US  ALL*".  "  278 

"SEEMED  HARDLY  ABLE  TO  KEEP  IN  THE  SADDLE".  .  "  292 

"HE  STOOD  FOR  A  MOMENT  WITH  BENT  HEAD".  .  .  "  3O2 
"  FOR  A  MINUTE  THE  TUTOR  FAILED  TO  RECOGNIZE  HIS 

FORMER  PUPIL" "  306 

"AFTER  SUPPER  HE  TOOK  HIM  INTO  HIS  STUDY"  .  .  "  310 

"DICK'S  FACE,  GHASTLY  PALE" "  318 

"WITH  AGONY  HE  CRAWLED  UP  THE  STEEP  SLOPE"  .  "  322 

"'NOT  STRONG  ENOUGH!*  HE  SAID" "  346 

"CHARLOTTE  EMPTIED  HER  PAIL  OF  WATER  OVER  IT*'  .  "  360 

"DREAMING  OF  A  FAIR,  GIRLISH  FACE" "  376 

"ORIGINAL  SMITH  AIMED  DELIBERATELY  AT  HIM".  .  "  406 
"ORIGINAL  SIN  HIMSELF  KNEELING  ON  THE  GROUND 

BEFORE  A  LARGE  TOMBSTONE" "  422 

"  '  I  AM  NOW  GOING  TO  WORK  IN  ANOTHER  FASHION  '"  .  "  440 

"HE  RODE  DOWN  CASTLE  STREET" "  464 

"DICK  ARDENTLY   DECLARING   HIS   LOVE" "488 


TO  RIGHT  THE  WRONG 


CHAPTER   I 

Two  lads,  that  thought  there  was  no  more  behind 
But  such  a  day  to-morrow  as  to-day, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal. — SHAKESPEARE. 

THE  hot  rays  of  a  July  sun  were  beating  down  upon  two 
riders  who,  with  tired  and  foam-flecked  steeds,  were  mak- 
ing their  way  along  a  ridge  of  country  overlooking  the  fens 
of  Lincolnshire.  All  about  them  lay  the  wide  green  ex- 
panse, gleaming  here  and  there  with  the  watery  tracks 
which  divided  the  few  reclaimed  fields,  for  in  Lincolnshire, 
as  a  wit  once  remarked,  "  the  very  hedges  are  ditches." 

Apparently,  however,  neither  the  heat  nor  the  monotony 
of  the  landscape  affected  the  spirits  of  the  travellers,  who 
were  talking  and  laughing  merrily  enough.  They  were  both 
young — standing  that  day,  as  it  were,  at  the  threshold  of 
manhood — for  they  had  just  taken  their  degree  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  now  "  the  world  lay  all  before  them,"  and  to 
each  the  prospect  with  its  unknown  chances  and  opportuni- 
ties seemed  good. 

Although  there  was  no  striking  likeness  between  the  two, 
it  was  easy  to  tell  by  their  voices  and  by  certain  tricks  of 
expression  and  bearing  that  they  were  brothers,  and  pos- 
sibly on  account  of  the  essential  unlikeness  of  their  charac- 
i 


ters  they  were  also  the  closest  friends.  Joscelyn  Heyworth, 
the  elder  of  the  two  by  a  year,  was  the  more  striking  and 
original ;  he  was  also,  on  account  of  his  bonhomie  and  his 
ready  wit,  the  more  popular ;  while  a  sort  of  latent  strength 
and  unexpected  force  of  character,  which  showed  itself  now 
and  then  beneath  his  light-hearted  sociability,  attracted  to 
him  almost  invariably  those  of  the  highest  type.  The 
younger  brother,  Dick,  though  possessing  much  of  Josce- 
lyn's  charm,  was  lacking  in  the  strength  as  well  as  in  the 
brilliancy  so  noticeable  in  the  elder  brother.  He  was  less 
to  be  depended  on — drifting  sometimes  from  sheer  good- 
nature into  dangers  from  which  the  other's  less  pliable 
nature  ran  no  risk  whatever.  On  the  other  hand,  in  even- 
ness of  temper  the  younger  was  far  superior  to  the  elder, 
and  if  Dick  needed  on  occasion  to  be  helped  out  of  some 
scrape,  or  prevented  by  Joscelyn  from  sowing  his  wild  oats, 
Joscelyn  needed  very  often  indeed  to  be  roused  from  the 
fits  of  deep  melancholy  to  which,  in  common  with  most 
high-spirited  people,  he  was  liable.  The  two  were  like 
David  and  Jonathan,  being  all  the  more  dependent  on  each 
other  because  circumstances  had  thrown  them  together 
almost  constantly,  and  on  this  summer  morning  there  was 
nothing  to  warn  them  of  coming  changes,  nothing  to  make 
them  realize  how  important  a  date  this  i3th  day  of  July,  in 
the  year  1642,  was  to  prove  for  each  of  them. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  there  is  Lincoln  Minster  at  last !"  ex- 
claimed Joscelyn,  as  he  perceived  far  in  advance  the  grand 
central  tower,  and  the  smaller  towers  of  the  west  front  with 
their  lead-covered  spires  glittering  in  the  sun. 

"Hurrah  for  the  jolly  Spread  Eagle  and  a  draught  of 
good  ale  1"  said  Dick,  pushing  back  the  hair  from  his  fore- 
head. "  This  sun  is  grilling !  We  will  put  up  our  horses 
below  hill,  and  go  up  in  the  cool  of  the  day  to  pay  our  re- 
spects to  your  old  godfather." 


"  I  hate  the  thought  of  coming  to  this  place  no  more," 
said  Joscelyn,  looking  over  the  green  plain  to  the  towers  of 
the  lower  city,  and  to  the  hill  beyond,  cross-crowned  by  its 
glorious  cathedral. 

"Who  knows  that  we  shall  come  no  more?"  said  Dick, 
lightly ;  "  Mr.  Gainsborough  may  live  to  be  a  hundred  years 
old  for  aught  we  know." 

Joscelyn  shook  his  head. 

"  Now  that  our  Cambridge  days  are  over  the  visits  here 
will  no  longer  be  a  saving  of  money,  but  an  expense.  We 
shall  be  kept  down  in  the  south.  You  will  see,  we  shall 
settle  down  at  Shortell  and  turn  into  Hampshire  hogs !" 
He  stifled  a  sigh  and  laughed. 

"A  Hampshire  hog,  a  Surrey  dog,  or  a  Sussex  boor," 
said  Dick,  with  a  grimace.  "  We  are  near  enough  to  the 
boundaries  of  all  three  counties  to  leave  us  some  choice. 
Do  you  guess  our  father's  intentions  towards  us  ?" 

Joscelyn  shook  his  head. 

"  Naught  has  been  said ;  in  my  last  letter  I  told  him  of 
our  wish  to  travel.  Maybe  at  Lincoln  he  will  send  us  some 
reply." 

"  He  did  not  grudge  it  to  Jervis,  but  he  will  grudge  it  to 
us,"  said  Dick,  with  an  oath.  "  Would  to  God  you  were 
the  first-born  instead  of  Jervis !  I  might  then  have  stood  a 
chance  of  receiving  something  better  than  snubs.  'Tis  a 
wretched  lot  to  be  merely  second  and  third  fiddle  all  one's 
born  days." 

"  Nay,  you  have  little  cause  to  grumble,"  said  Joscelyn. 
"  Was  it  not  ever  the  youngest  son  who  proved  successful 
in  all  the  nursery  tales  ?  But  I — the  prosaic  middle  one  in 
a  family  of  five — have  nothing  before  me  but  mediocrity  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter.  Jervis  must  be  home  again  from 
the  grand  tour  by  now.  I  wonder  if  he  is  at  Shortell,  or  if 
he  has  already  joined  my  father  at  York  ?•" 


"At  Beverley,  you  should  say.  The  court  has  left  York 
by  this.  Great  Heaven  !  Just  look  yonder !  Why,  the  road 
is  black  with  people  !"  The  two  brothers,  who  had  jour- 
neyed that  morning  from  Grantham,  were  now  approaching 
the  Eleanor  Cross,  just  outside  the  city,  the  first  of  the  long 
series  of  monuments  marking  the  resting-places  of  King 
Edward's  wife,  and  terminating  at  the  village  of  Charing, 
near  London. 

At  this  point  a  road  from  the  southwest  joined  the  one 
they  had  been  travelling  on,  and  it  was  clear  that  from  this 
western  quarter  some  great  arrival  was  expected,  for  on 
either  side  the  way  was  lined  with  people  in  holiday  trim. 

Joscelyn,  who  loved  excitement  and  delighted  in  crowds, 
urged  on  his  steed  till,  on  reaching  the  Eleanor  Cross,  he 
paused  to  ask  an  old  countryman  what  was  the  meaning  of 
the  unusual  stir. 

"  Marry,  God  bless  your  heart,  master,  his  Majesty  the 
King  be  a-coomin'  from  Newark,"  replied  the  man,  lifting 
a  wrinkled  and  weather-beaten  face  to  his  questioner. 
"  Oh,  aye,  it  be  true  as  gospel,  and  I've  left  my  be-usts 
[cattle]  that  I  may  clap  eyes  on  him." 

"The  King  coming  here!"  exclaimed  Joscelyn.  "I 
wonder  if  my  father  will  be  in  his  train  ?  If  so,  Dick, 
good-luck  for  us.  We  will  do  what  we  can  to  get  leave  to 
travel,  and  who  knows  but  my  godfather  may  put  in  a  word 
for  us  ?" 

"  Perchance  my  father  will  wish  us  to  join  the  King's 
army,"  said  Dick,  whose  heart  stirred  strangely  within  him 
at  the  sight  of  the  people's  enthusiasm.  "After  all,  'tis 
somewhat  churlish  to  set  off  travelling  to  foreign  parts 
when  our  swords  might  be  of  use  in  defending  both  Church 
and  King — in  upholding  the  divine  right  of — " 

"  For  God's  sake  let  us  have  no  politics  !"  said  Joscelyn, 
with  an  air  of  impatience  and  distaste.  "  As  for  me,"  and 


he  laughed  a  hearty,  boyish  laugh,  "  I  hold  with  Sir  Andrew 
Aguecheek,  and  had  as  lief  be  a  Brownist  as  a  politician. 
What  do  you  say,  shall  we  wait  here  and  see  the  entry  ?" 

"  Better  push  on,"  said  Dick ;  "  we  shall  get  no  stabling 
for  the  horses  else.  The  city  is  certain  to  be  crowded." 

"  True.  That's  a  prudent  thought,"  replied  Joscelyn. 
"  What  good-fortune  to  come  in  for  such  a  pageant !  'Tis 
a  good  omen  that  our  manhood  opens  with  such  a  stroke  of 
luck." 

With  keen  interest  he  watched  the  busy  preparations  and 
the  eager  people,  making  laughing  comments  to  his  brother 
as  they  passed  by.  Many  glances  were  turned  upon  him, 
for,  as  one  old  gossip  remarked  to  another,  he  was  indeed 
"  a  sight  for  sair  een  "  as  he  rode  that  day  into  the  city  of 
Lincoln. 

His  face  was  a  powerful  as  well  as  a  handsome  one ; 
there  was  power  in  the  square  jaw  and  prominent  chin, 
power  in  the  low  broad  forehead,  and  both  intellect  and 
humor  in  the  far-seeing,  dark -blue  eyes,  which,  with  his 
sunny  and  laughter-loving  nature,  had  been  the  bequest  of 
his  Irish  grandmother.  As  though  to  soften  the  rather 
stern  features,  his  complexion  was  unusually  fair,  while  the 
thick  wavy  mass  of  hair  reaching  to  his  shoulders  was  of 
so  golden  a  color  that  one  might  have  dropped  guineas 
among  it.  He  wore  the  picturesque  costume  of  the  time  in 
light  gray  cloth,  a  broad  gray  felt  hat  with  blue  plumes,  and 
high  riding-boots. 

Richard  Heyworth  was  also  a  handsome  fellow,  his  hair 
and  coloring  several  shades  darker  than  his  brother's,  and 
his  honest  gray  eyes  full  of  good-humor.  But  whereas  Jos- 
celyn was  broad-shouldered,  lean,  and  sinewy,  evidently  a 
born  athlete,  Dick  was  small  made,  long-necked,  and  rather 
inert-looking,  so  that  naturally  one  would  have  expected  the 
warlike  spirit  to  animate  the  elder  brother,  and  the  desire 


to  visit  the  cities  of  the  Continent  to  have  filled  the  mind  of 
the  younger.  While,  however,  Dick  at  Cambridge  had  in- 
variably been  ready  to  drink  confusion  to  the  Roundheads 
and  to  argue  with  all  the  heat  and  ignorance  of  youth,  Jos- 
celyn  had  always  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  question  of  the 
day.  He  hated  strife  and  loved  merriment,  politics  bored 
him,  and  though  the  country  seemed  to  stand  on  the  very 
brink  of  war,  he  still  held  aloof  from  all  consideration  or 
discussion  of  the  problem  that  was  dividing  England.  He 
was  one  of  those  who  cannot  see  matters  of  this  sort  in  the 
abstract,  one  of  those  who  sleep  calmly  on  till  wakened  by 
the  actual  presence  of  the  problem  incarnate — till  some  in- 
dividual case  of  wrong  clutches  hold  of  them  and  shakes 
them  from  a  pleasant  dream-land  into  the  light  of  truth. 

Lincoln  in  those  days  must  have  been  one  of  the  most 
striking  cities  in  England,  and  to  Joscelyn  Heyworth  it 
was  a  place  full  of  pleasant  associations,  for  happy  as  his 
life  had  been,  and  much  as  he  loved  the  old  Hampshire 
home,  yet  it  was  here,  at  Lincoln,  that  he  had  first  tasted 
the  delights  of  freedom.  At  Shortell  Manor  he  was  for- 
ever being  reminded  that  he  was  merely  one  of  the  younger 
sons,  and  though  the  Heyworths  were  a  singularly  united 
family,  with  a  strong  feeling  for  the  ties  of  blood,  yet  Lady 
Heyworth  ruled  somewhat  sternly,  and  Sir  Thomas  treated 
all  but  Jervis  and  Isabella,  the  eldest  daughter,  with  a 
good  deal  of  kindness,  but  with  scant  consideration.  At 
Lincoln,  naturally  enough,  all  was  different,  and  it  was 
with  "a  gay  heart  and  friendly  eyes  that  Joscelyn  glanced 
up  at  the  great  Bargate,  the  first  of  the  gate-houses  pro- 
tecting the  city  on  the  south.  With  something  of  the  pride 
of  an  actual  citizen,  too,  he  looked  at  the  beautiful  Church 
of  St.  Botolph,  and,  fording  the  great  Gowt — a  watercourse 
which  at  that  time  traversed  the  High  Street — rode  past 
the  old  Saxon  towers  of  St.  Peter-at-Gowts  and  St.  Mary- 


le-Wigford  on  the  right  hand,  the  more  modern  churches  of 
St.  Mark  and  St.  Benedict  on  the  left,  and  with  no  small 
difficulty  forced  a  passage  through  the  great  crowd  of  peo- 
ple on  the  High  Bridge. 

"  Let  us  see  if  there  is  stabling  to  be  had  at  the  Spread 
Eagle,"  said  Dick. 

But  one  of  the  hostlers  promptly  assured  them  that  there 
was  no  room  at  all  in  the  inn,  many  of  the  gentry  having 
come  to  the  city  that  day  to  do  honor  to  his  Majesty. 
Finding  the  same  state  of  things  at  the  Saracen's  Head, 
the  brothers  betook  themselves  to  the  George  Inn,  a  quaint 
old  timber  building  with  an  upper  story  overhanging  the 
narrow  High  Street  and  gaining  a  fine  view  of  the  Stone- 
bow,  another  of  the  ci'ty  gate-houses. 

By  the  time  they  had  donned  their  best  suits,  and  made 
as  good  a  meal  as  might  be  obtained  from  the  excited 
people  of  the  inn,  the  crowd  without  had  enormously  in- 
creased, and  though  Joscelyn  was  not  without  a  desire  to 
be  down  in  the  thick  of  it,  he  yielded  to  his  brother's  as- 
surances that  they  would  see  all  that  was  to  be  seen  far 
better  from  the  window  of  the  George.  So  with  the  case- 
ment flung  wide  they  established  themselves  comfortably 
on  the  broad  window-seat,  and  with  a  dish  of  strawberries 
within  easy  reach  idly  awaited  the  event  of  the  day,  chatting 
as  comfortably  and  unconcernedly  as  though  beneath  this 
popular  gathering  there  lurked  no  grim  shadow  of  coming 
strife. 

"  Look  !  look !"  cried  Dick;  "  here  come  whole  troops  of 
clergy  filing  through  the  Stonebow !  We  shall  see  your 
godfather  among  them.  How  far  do  they  go-  to  meet  his 
Majesty?" 

"  There  walks  the  Dean,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  and  good 
Lord !  what  hosts  of  them !  why,  the  place  is  all  a-crawl 
with  parsons.  They  can  push  their  way  no  farther ;  they 


8 

mean  to  wait  here.  And  see !  from  the  other  quarter 
comes  our  jolly  old  herdgroom  that  we  met  at  the  cross ; 
he  is  determined  to  clap  eyes  on  the  King  from  the  best 
possible  point." 

He  turned  back  to  the  room  for  a  fresh  handful  of 
strawberries,  then  leaned  out  once  more,  his  eyes  full  of 
merriment,  for  to  an  acute  observer  a  crowd  will  generally 
furnish  plenty  of  fun.  He  was  intent  on  throwing  down 
strawberries  to  a  child  just  below  in  its  mother's  arms, 
when  shouts  from  the  distance  warned  them  that  his 
Majesty  was  at  length  coming.  The  dense  throng  in 
the  street  cheered  lustily,  cries  of  "  A  King !  a  King  ! 
a  King !"  echoed  on  all  sides,  and  the  general  enthusiasm 
touched  Joscelyn-  it  even  brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes. 
"  What  a  thing  it  must  be  to  have  such  love  as  this  thrown 
at  one's  feet !"  he  thought.  "  A  king  must  surely  be 
moved  by  such  a  sight,  must  burn  to  serve  his  people." 
And  with  an  eager  desire  which  he  had  never  before  felt 
he  longed  to  see  the  face  of  his  sovereign,  realizing  through 
the  loving  welcome  of  the  crowd  something  of  the  strength 
of  the  King's  position,  something,  too,  of  its  dread  respon- 
sibility. 

And  now,  indeed,  the  procession  was  actually  in  sight, 
and  looking  down  the  High  Street  he  could  see  the  frantic 
waving  of  hats,  the  drawn  swords  of  the  gentry  eager  to 
swear  their  readiness  to  fight,  and,  surrounded  by  the  guard, 
his  Majesty  himself,  the  one  unmoved  person  in  the  whole 
vast  assembly.  With  reverent  loyalty  fast  changing  to  a 
sort  of  dread  curiosity,  Joscelyn  gazed  fixedly  at  the  ap- 
proaching King.  Charles,  unfortunately,  had  none  of  the 
genial  bearing  and  habit  of  courting  popularity  which  had 
stood  the  Tudors  in  such  good  stead,  and  without  which 
their  despotic  government  would  never  have  been  toler- 
ated ;  his  affections  were  strictly  limited  to  his  domestic 


circle,  and  in  no  sense  of  the  word  could  he  be  called  the 
father  of  his  people ;  cold,  indifferent,  reserved,  he  had 
nothing  to  give  in  return  for  all  the  devotion  of  this  multi- 
tude. 

"  Vivat  Rex !  Vivat  Rex !"  shouted  the  hundreds  of 
clergy  ranged  on  either  side  of  the  street ;  and  in  the  words 
of  a  pamphleteer  of  the  day,  an  eye-witness  of  the  scene, 
"  his  Majesty  vouchsafed  a  princely  recognition  of  this  duti- 
ful expression." 

So  narrow  was  the  street,  so  overhanging  the  upper  story 
of  the  inn,  that  the  two  brothers  at  their  window  were  on  a 
level  with  the  King  and  quite  near  to  him.  Dick  Heyworth 
stood,  sword  in  hand,  huzzaing  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
lungs,  but  Joscelyn  seemed  like  one  struck  dumb  ;  he  forgot 
himself  altogether,  and  merely  stood  there  in  the  window 
watching,  as  though  his  very  life  depended  on  it,  the  cold, 
handsome  face  and  dignified  bearing  of  the  King. 

At  that  moment  a  cry  was  raised  which  overpowered  by 
its  strange  contrast  the  shouts  of  welcome.  To  the  right  of 
the  Stonebow,  from  the  Prison  Lane,  a  man  came  elbowing 
his  way  through  the  crowd. 

"Justice!"  he  cried,  "justice!"  and  the  word  rang  out 
with  a  passionate  pain  indescribable. 

Joscelyn's  heart  gave  a  bound ;  he  looked  at  this  daring 
unit  in  the  throng  who  had  ventured  to  uplift  his  voice.  For 
an  instant  he  saw  him  distinctly,  and  all  his  life  he  could 
recall  the  sight.  A  bloodless  face  lined  with  suffering,  dark 
hair  closely  cropped  after  the  fashion  of  the  extreme  section 
among  the  Puritans,  a  nose  slit  by  the  shears  of  the  execu- 
tioner, ghastly  scars  where  there  should  have  been  ears — a 
mere  wreck  of  a  man,  in  fact,  a  living  witness  to  the  bar- 
barous intolerance  of  the  age,  for  he  was  clearly  no  crim- 
inal ;  the  face,  though  tinged  with  fanaticism,  was  never- 
theless a  good  face.  It  was  only  for  a  minute  that  he  was 


10 


visible,  for  the  people  turned  upon  him  in  fury,  and  with 
oaths  and  blows  he  was  hustled  off  the  scene.  The  King, 
no  more  affected  by  the  incident  than  he  would  have  been 
by  the  hum  of  a  wasp  or  the  drone  of  a  bee,  turned  to  Sir 
John  Monson  and  commanded  him  to  read  the  speech 
prepared  by  his  Majesty  for  the  occasion.  This  ceremony 
ended,  the  city  delivered  its  congratulations  by  the  Recorder, 
Sir  Charles  Dalison,  and  the  King,  returning  a  gracious  ex- 
tempore answer,  passed  through  the  Stonebow,  and  bowed 
to  the  Corporation,  which  awaited  him  with  a  full  appear- 
ance of  their  trained  bands. 

Meanwhile,  Joscelyn  Heyworth  had  awakened  from  his 
dream ;  he  had  realized  that  there  were  grievances  which 
called  for  redress,  and  he  had  learned  that  the  King  was 
utterly  unmoved  by  these  grievances.  His  heart  was  all  in 
a  tumult.  He  turned  hastily  to  the  old  landlady,  who  had 
been  looking  from  one  of  the  other  windows  at  the  King's 
entry. 

"  Who  was  that  Roundhead  fellow  that  cried  out  for  jus- 
tice ?"  he  asked.  "  Doth  he  belong  to  these  parts  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  master,"  said  the  good  dame,  wondering  at 
the  question.  "  He  be  well  known  in  Lincoln.  'Tis  John 
Drake,  the  school-master  •  he  was  sent  to  prison  in  foreign 
parts.  The  Parliament  they  released  him." 

"  Why  was  he  imprisoned  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  He  wrote  a  book  against  the  bishops,"  said  the  land- 
lady, "  and  the  Star  Chamber  condemned  him  for  it  to  the 
pillory  ;  and  that  was  how  he  lost  his  ears  and  the  shape  of 
his  nose,  to  say  nothing  of  his  money ;  and  when  he  coom 
back  from  prison,  why,  he  found  his  wife  and  children  had 
died,  and  it's  my  belief  that  half  turned  his  brain,  for  though 
before  he  was  a  peaceable,  harmless  man,  yet  now  he  be 
always,  as  you  saw  him  to-day,  wildlike  and  crying  for  jus- 
tice." 


II 


Joscelyn  thought  of  the  people  who  had  kicked  and  hus- 
tled him  out  of  sight,  and  he  thought  of  the  King's  cold  in- 
difference. Had  they  treated  a  dog  even  in  such  a  way, 
surely  one  might  have  expected  a  shade  of  pity  or  concern 
on  the  face  of  a  good  and  compassionate  man  ;  and  this 
fanatic,  this  mutilated  school-master,  was  one  of  the  King's 
own  subjects. 

"  Where  doth  the  fellow  live  ?"  he  asked,  filled  with  an 
unaccountable  desire  to  make  up  to  the  poor  man  for  the 
ill  treatment  he  had  received. 

"Well,  I've  heard  folks  say  that  he  lodges  at  the  Jew's 
house  on  Steep  Hill,"  said  the  landlady.  "  Not  the  one 
opposite  the  Bull  Ring,  but  what  they  call  the  House  of 
Aaron  the  Jew,  wellnigh  at  the  top  o'  the  hill." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  from 
Dick. 

"  Good-luck,  Joscelyn  !  good-luck !"  he  cried.  "  See,  here 
rides  my  father." 

Joscelyn  returned  to  the  window,  and  the  perplexity  died 
out  of  his  face  as  he  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Why,  as  I'm  a  living  man, "he  cried,  "there's  Jervis  rid- 
ing beside  him,  wearing  a  lovelock  a  yard  long,  tied  with 
sky-blue  ribbons." 

"The  grand  tour  has  changed  him  mightily,"  said  Dick. 
"Was  there  ever  such  a  dandy  ?  See  how  my  father  defers 
to  him.  There's  after  all  little  hope  for  us,  I  fear." 

But  Joscelyn  had  ceased  to  think  of  the  future ;  he  was 
only  intent  on  catching  his  father's  eye,  and  bluff  Sir  Thom- 
as, presently  perceiving  him,  called  out  a  hearty  greeting, 
and  bade  him  hasten  below  and  meet  them. 

Both  Joscelyn  and  Dick  hurried  down  to  the  door,  and 
Sir  Thomas,  dismounting,  embraced  them,  looking  them 
over  from  head  to  foot  not  without  a  good  deal  of  fatherly 
pride. 


12 

"Glad  to  see  you,  my  sons;  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said. 
"Why,  Jervis,  it's  an  age  since  you  set  eyes  on  them." 

Jervis's  greeting  was  decidedly  flavored  with  patronage, 
and  Joscelyn  was  glad  to  turn  again  to  his  father. 

"  You  have  ridden  straight  from  Newark,  sir  ?"  he  asked. 

"Aye,  right  away,  and  we  are  wellnigh  broiled,"  said  the 
baronet,  taking  off  his  beaver  and  wiping  his  red  face  as 
they  mounted  the  stairs. 

He  was  a  fine-looking  man  of  about  fifty,  but  appearing 
older  on  account  of  his  gray  hair  and  shaggy  gray  eye- 
brows. His  eyes,  rather  small  and  deep-set,  were  of  a 
clear  light  blue,  utterly  unlike  the  Irish  blue  of  Joscelyn's ; 
his  mouth  betrayed  an  irritable  temperament,  but  in  other 
details  he  was  not  unlike  his  second  son :  there  was  the 
same  rather  stern  profile,  the  same  tall,  broad-shouldered 
frame,  and  the  same  strange  attractiveness  which  made 
him,  with  all  his  faults,  a  most  lovable  man. 

"We  left  Cambridge  but  yesterday,  sir,"  exclaimed  Jos- 
celyn, as  they  entered  the  parlor  once  more  ;  "  slept  last 
night  at  the  Angel,  at  Grantham,  and  rode  on  here  just  in 
time  to  see  the  King's  entry.  We  had  no  notion  his  Maj- 
esty was  expected." 

"  It  was  but  a  hastily  devised  plan,"  said  Sir  Thomas, 
setting  down  his  tankard  of  ale  and  calling  for  a  plate  of 
beef.  "  We  have  had  naught  but  chopping  and  changing  of 
late ;  first  from  York  to  Beverley,  where  his  Majesty  hath 
a  fine  set  of  troops  ready  to  fight  the  parliamentary  villains  ; 
thence  to  Hull,  which  is  still  held  by  the  traitor  Hotham ; 
after  that  to  Newark,  and  so  here.  Jervis  and  I  must  re- 
turn with  the  court  to-morrow  to  Beverley,  but  as  for  you 
two  lads  you  had  best  return  to  Shortell  at  once  and  help 
to  execute  the  commission  of  array.  On  your  way  down 
you  can  stop  to  consult  with  your  uncle  at  Bletchingley, 
and  erelong  I  shall  be  at  home  to  see  to  matters  myself." 


13 

"  Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  you  intend  to  raise  a  troop  ?" 
asked  Joscelyn,  all  his  old  perplexity  returning. 

"  Why,  of  course,  lad,  of  course  ;  what  else  would  you 
have  me  do  ?  Things  would  be  come  to  a  pretty  pass  in- 
deed if  an  English  gentleman  hesitated  to  put  all  he  had  at 
the  disposal  of  his  King.  I  thank  God  that  he  has  given 
me  wealth  and  health  and  three  stalwart  sons  to  join  with 
me  against  the  foe." 

Jervis,  who  had  taken  a  place  at  the  table  just  opposite 
to  Joscelyn,  watched  him  critically  during  this  speech. 

"  Methinks  Cambridge  is  somewhat  behind  the  times," 
he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  Joscelyn  has  the  air  of  one  roused 
from  the  land  of  books  to  the  workaday  world.  In  the 
words  of  the  proverb, '  This  cock  will  not  fight.'  " 

Joscelyn  flushed  angrily  and  turned  to  his  father. 

"  I  have  kept  aloof  from  politics,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  and  this 
certain  news  of  war,  this  active  preparation,  bursts  on  me 
as  a  surprise.  I  had  always  thought  some  peaceful  settle- 
ment would  be  made.  For  the  rest,  if  war  indeed  come,  I 
can  fight  for  the  right  as  well  as  any  other  Englishman." 

"  Bravely  spoken,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  Come,  boys,  let 
us  have  a  toast :  Confusion  to  the  King's  enemies  !" 

"  Confusion  to  the  King's  enemies  !"  echoed  the  three 
sons ;  but  as  Joscelyn  drank  there  darted  into  his  mind  an 
uncomfortable  question — 

"  And  who  are  his  true  enemies  ?" 

It  was  exactly  as  though  a  voice  spoke  the  words  into  his 
ear,  and  indeed  the  question  was  the  last  that  would  have 
naturally  occurred  to  him.  Startled  and  agitated,  he  pushed 
back  his  chair,  and  crossing  the  room,  gazed  out  of  the  win- 
dow  again  at  the  crowded  street.  The  motley  gathering, 
however,  had  no  longer  any  charms  for  him ;  like  one  in  a 
dream  he  watched  the  people  fighting  their  way  through  the 
three  arches  of  the  Stonebow,  while  above  them,  carved  on 


14 

the  old  gate-house  in  strange  contrast  of  repose,  he  could 
see  the  representation  of  the  Virgin  Mary  trampling  under- 
foot the  dragon  as  she  received  the  message  of  the  Archan- 
gel Gabriel.  His  peace-loving  nature  turned  with  relief  to 
the  calm  picture  in  stone.  At  least  of  this  he  was  sure,  that 
in  the  end  evil  was  to  be  overpowered  by  good.  Whatever 
else  was  uncertain,  there  remained  the  one  great  certainty, 
that  peace  and  good -will  should  ultimately  reign  among 
men.  For  Joscelyn  had  a  sort  of  vigorous  faith  which  had 
grown  with  his  growth  and  strengthened  with  his  strength ; 
and  the  vague  discomfort  that  had  now  seized  upon  him 
came  solely  from  his  dread  of  doing  wrong  through  his  po- 
litical ignorance.  An  unexpected  call  had  come  to  him  to 
help  his  father  in  executing  the  commission  of  array,  and 
but  a  few  minutes  before  he  had  become  conscious  that  the 
question  at  issue  was  a  painfully  complicated  one,  and  that 
for  him  at  any  rate  it  was  now  impossible  to  rush  into  the 
King's  service  without  trying  to  gain  a  true  understanding 
of  the  actual  quarrel. 

And  yet  how  was  this  possible  for  him  ?"  With  the  best 
intentions,  how  could  he  now  all  at  once  gain  the  knowl- 
edge he  so  sorely  needed  ?  In  a  miserable  state  of  unrest, 
with  a  suppressed  dread  which  he  failed  to  understand,  he 
tried  desperately  to  see  where  his  duty  lay,  and  while  still 
making  as  though  he  were  absorbed  in  contemplation  of 
the  crowd,  he  was  really  praying  with  the  passionate  fervor 
of  one  who  sees  himself  encompassed  by  perils.  Then  he 
stood  still  and  waited  in  expectancy,  but  all  that  came  to 
him  was  the  trampling  of  feet  and  the  buzz  of  tongues  from 
the  street  below,  while  from  within  came  the  sound  of  Jer- 
vis's  voice,  singing,  not  too  soberly,  a  mocking  song  of  the 

day: 

"Come,  let  the  state  stay 

And  drink  away, 
There  is  no  business  above  it  ; 


15 

It  warms  the  cold  brain, 

Makes  us  speak  in  high  strain, 
He's  a  fool  that  does  not  approve  it. 

The  Macedon  youth 

Left  behind  him  this  truth, 
That  nothing  is  done  with  much  thinking ; 

He  drank  and  he  fought, 

Till  he  had  what  he  sought ; 
The  world  was  his  own  by  good  drinking." 

The  words  fell  jarringly  on  his  ear.  Was  this  devil's 
argument  to  be  shouted  out  so  clearly,  and  was  no  help  to 
come  to  him  in  his  perplexity  ?  All  at  once  he  remembered 
his  old  godfather.  If  he  could  not  see  a  way  out  of  his 
difficulties,  there  was  at  any  rate  something  he  ought  to  do 
at  the  present  moment ;  and  finding  Dick  little  disposed  to 
go  with  him,  he  set  forth  alone,  relieved  to  get  out  of  the 
inn  parlor  into  the  gay,  crowded  High  Street. 


CHAPTER  II 

It  is  curious  to  observe  the  triumph  of  slight  incidents  Over  the 
mind — what  incredible  weight  they  have  in  forming  and  governing  our 
opinion,  both  of  men  and  things  ! — that  trifles  light  as  air  should  waft  a 
belief  into  the  soul,  and  plant  it  so  immovably  within  it  that  Euclid's 
demonstrations,  could  they  be  brought  to  batter  it  in  breach,  should  not 
all  have  power  to  overthrow  it  ! — STERNE. 

THE  fresh  summer  air  and  the  bright  sunshine  soon  re- 
stored Joscelyn's  mind  to  its  usual  happy  content.  Passing 
the  churches  of  St.  Peter-at-Arches,  St.  Lawrence,  and  St. 
Martin,  he  entered  the  Strait,  a  gloomy,  narrow  thoroughfare 
leading  from  the  High  Street  to  the  foot  of  Steep  Hill. 
Here  he  overtook  some  old  friends,  Henry  Barrington  and 
his  pretty  sister,  and  what  with  their  merry  talk  and  the 
bright  eyes  of  Mistress  Anne,  future  cares  were  driven  still 
further  into  the  background. 

"You  must  come  to  us  this  evening,"  she  said,  gayly. 
"  We  are  to  have  a  dance  in  honor  of  his  Majesty's  visit. 
How  lucky  that  you  should  have  arrived  in  time  for  this 
gala-day !" 

"Nay,  come  and  stay  with  us  altogether,"  said  Henry 
Barrington  ;  "  for,  as  no  doubt  you  have  heard,  old  Mr. 
Gainsborough  is  taken  ill,  and  you  will  have  but  a  dull  time 
of  it  there." 

"  Is  he  ill  ?"  said  Joscelyn,  anxiously.  "  I  had  heard 
naught  of  that.  I  must  go  on  at  once  and  ask  how  he 
does.  And  for  your  invitation  to  the  dance,  Mistress  Anne, 
I  gladly  accept  it." 

She  gave  him  a  bright,  mischievous  glance,  for  Joscelyn 


Heyworth  was  one  of  the  three  admirers  who  she  favored, 
and  stood  quite  apart  from  a  score  or  so  of  less  fortunate 
adorers.  At  present,  however,  he  was  not  so  much  in  love 
with  her  as  he  had  once  fancied  was  the  case,  merely  regard- 
ing her  as  the  prettiest  girl  he  had  as  yet  seen  and  the  pleas- 
antest  to  talk  with. 

Having  parted  with  them  towards  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
watched  the  last  glimpse  of  Anne's  blue  skirt  as  it  turned 
the  corner,  he  suddenly  came  back  to  his  perplexities  with 
a  pang  of  remembrance,  at  sight  of  the  Jew's  house  which 
he  was  just  approaching.  In  a  moment  the  scene  at  the 
Stonebow  flashed  back  into  his  mind,  and  once  more  that 
unwelcome  voice  spoke  to  him  with  startling  clearness : 
"  Go,  see  him  at  once — he  was  unjustly  used." 

Not  without  a  certain  reluctance  he  approached  the  old 
stone  house,  and,  pausing  at  the  Norman  doorway,  knocked 
for  admittance. 

"  What  is  your  will  ?"  said  a  pale-faced  woman,  opening 
to  him. 

"  I  came  to  inquire  after  a  Mr.  John  Drake  ;  they  told  me 
he  lodged  here,"  said  Joscelyn. 

The  woman  looked  doubtfully  at  his  dress  and  at  the 
mane  of  golden  hair ;  she  seemed  half  inclined  to  shut  the 
door  in  his  face,  but  the  kindly  look  in  his  blue  eyes  dis- 
armed her. 

"  If  you  wish  him  well,  sir,  step  in,"  she  said ;  "  but  he 
has  not  long  to  live,  and  I  will  not  have  him  pestered  at  the 
last." 

"  What !"  cried  Joscelyn.  "  You  don't  mean  that  he  was 
seriously  injured  by  the  crowd  ?" 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  'Twas  not  the  crowd  that  killed 
him ;  'twas  his  own  excitement.  He  had  been  ill  in  bed 
for  a  se'nnight  or  more,  but  to-day,  when  my  back  was 
turned,  he  dressed  himself  and  went  downhill,  being  fran- 


i8 

tic-like  at  news  of  the  King's  entrance.  I'm  naught  but  his 
landlady;  yet,  sir,  I  care  for  him  as  though  he  were  my  own 
kin." 

She  led  the  way  into  an  inner  room,  where,  in  the  some- 
what dim  light,  Joscelyn  presently  descried  the  face  that 
had  haunted  him,  almost  as  white  now  as  the  pillow  it  lay 
upon.  John  Drake  fixed  his  dark  eyes  on  the  stranger  for 
a  minute,  then  turned  to  his  landlady. 

"  I  would  see  none  but  the  godly  in  my  last  extremity," 
he  said. 

"  Nay,  sir,"  said  the  good  woman  ;  "  but  this  gentleman 
hath  a  kind  heart,  and  would  know  how  you  fare.  Maybe 
he  is,  after  all,  a  godly  youth." 

"  His  clothing  is  too  bright,  and  his  hair  is  not  of  the 
godly  cut,"  said  the  Puritan. 

At  any  other  time  Joscelyn  would  have  laughed  aloud, 
but  in  the  near  presence  of  death  a  sort  of  awe  stilled  even 
his  keen  sense  of  humor.  He  felt  nothing  but  a  desire  to 
help  in  some  way  this  man  who  had  been  slowly  done  to 
death. 

"  Don't  heed  me,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  only  one  who  saw  the 
doings  just  now  at  the  Stonebow,  and  would  fain  have  shel- 
tered you  from  the  rough  usage.  Is  there  aught  I  could  do 
for  you  now  ?" 

The  dying  man  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes,  he  only 
looked  steadfastly  at  his  visitor ;  it  was  as  if  he  now  saw 
something  beyond  the  fashionable  clothes  and  the  gay  col- 
ors and  the  long  hair. 

"  I  misjudged  you,  sir,"  he  said  at  length.  "  '  Blessed 
are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy.'  Nay,  there 
is  little  I  need  now;  the  prison  life  sowed  the  seeds  of  death 
in  me,  and  sorrow  and  want  have  finished  the  work." 

His  very  lack  of  complaint  touched  Joscelyn  ;  he  looked 
down  on  the  poor,  marred  face  with  infinite  pity.  What  a 


19 

life  this  man  had  led !  what  misery  he  had  endured !  how 
cruel  had  the  world  been  to  him !  and  now  he  was  dying, 
and  the  time  for  "  kindly  deeds  and  offices  of  good  "  was 
over. 

"  I  wish  your  life  had  been  less  sad,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a 
sort  of  break  in  his  voice,  "  and  I  wish  there  were  aught  I 
could  do  for  you." 

The  dying  man  started  up  with  sudden  energy,  and  caught 
his  hand  with  an  eager,  almost  convulsive  grasp. 

"  Too  late  for  me,"  he  said,  "  but  in  God's  name  think  of 
the  thousands  in  like  case.  Give  your  life  for  England  and 
her  liberties.  Fight  for  justice — for  justice  !" 

With  that  word  on  his  lips — the  first  word  and  the  last 
that  Joscelyn  heard  him  speak — John  Drake  fell  back  upon 
the  pillow.  His  troubled  life  was  over. 

Joscelyn  staggered  back  from  the  bedside,  feeling  as  if 
some  one  had  dealt  him  a  stunning  blow.  Within  a  couple 
of  hours  there  had  come  to  him  a  call  to  arms  from  either 
side.  His  father  bade  him  help  to  prepare  a  troop  in  Hamp- 
shire, this  dying  Puritan  solemnly  adjured  him,  in  the  name 
of  God,  to  fight  for  the  liberties  of  England.  It  seemed  to 
him  the  very  irony  of  fate  that  this  should  have  happened 
to  one  whose  tastes  were  wholly  peaceful,  and  he  wondered 
impatiently  why  he  could  not  return  to  his  old,  comfortable, 
easy-going  life.  But  his  sleep  was  over,  his  dream  ended ; 
already  his  boyhood  seemed  far  behind,  and  life — hard,  per- 
plexing, baffling  life — lay  before  him. 

Then  he  remembered  that  he  must  hasten  on  to  see  old 
Mr.  Gainsborough,  if  possible ;  and  full  of  anxiety  to  find 
out  the  truth  about  his  illness,  he  took  a  hurried  leave  of 
the  landlady  of  the  Jew's  house,  and,  mounting  the  rest  of 
the  hill,  made  his  way  through  the  Exchequer  Gate  into  the 
Close,  or,  as  it  was  usually  called,  the  Minster  Yard. 

From  the  northwest  tower  Great  Tom  of  Lincoln  rang 


20 


solemn  welcome  to  the  King,  and  in  the  sunshine  of  that 
summer  afternoon  the  rich  Norman  work  of  the  west  front 
seemed  to  Joscelyn  more  perfect  than  ever ;  he  wondered 
whether  John  Drake  had  grudged  the  beauty  of  the  cathe- 
dral, and  whether,  if  he  and  his  like  had  their  way,  all  the 
noblest  buildings  in  England  would  be  levelled  to  the  ground. 
Walking  past  the  beautiful  Galilee  porch,  and  the  still  more 
beautiful  south  doorway,  he  imagined  to  himself  an  army  of 
John  Drakes  at  work  with  hammer  and  axe,  not  for  their 
legitimate  use,  but  for  destruction — for  sawing  off,  perhaps, 
the  exquisitely  chiselled  head  of  the  Christ  in  the  centre  of 
the  south  doorway,  or  for  dragging  the  stone  saints  from 
their  niches.  This  side  of  Puritanism  revolted  him ;  and 
yet  the  memory  of  the  dead  man,  of  his  poor  mutilated  face, 
of  his  pitiful  story,  kept  returning  to-  him  till  his  wrath 
against  the  image-breakers  turned  to  wrath  with  the  cruel- 
ties of  Laud,  and  in  resenting  the  defacing  of  human  beings 
he  forgot  to  think  of  the  foolish  attacks  on  art. 

Mr.  Gainsborough  lived  in  an  old  red-tiled  house  facing 
the  east  end  of  the  cathedral,  and  near  the  chapter-house. 
It  was  long  and  low,  with  curious  old  windows  dating  from 
the  reign  of  Edward  III.  Joscelyn  noticed  that  the  cur- 
tains of  his  godfather's  bedroom  were  closely  drawn,  and 
the  moment  the  old  serving-man  opened  the  door  to  him  he 
saw  that  Henry  Barrington  had  not  exaggerated  the  news 
of  the  illness. 

"  The  master  will  never  be  out  again,"  explained  the  old 
servant,  in  reply  to  his  question.  "  He  may  linger  on  for  a 
time,  they  say,  but  can  never  be  better  any  more." 

"  Will  he  see  me  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"Yes,  sir,  yes;  come  in.  No  fear  but  that  he'll  see 
you."  And  entering  a  dark  passage,  Joscelyn  followed  the 
man  up  a  strange  twisting  staircase,  built  in  the  thickness 
of  the  wall,  till  he  reached  the  sick-room.  Here,  lying  on 


21 


a  quaintly-carved  bedstead  with  a  heavy  oak  canopy,  he 
found  his  old  friend,  and  his  heart  sank  within  him  as  he 
saw  how  wan  and  changed  he  was.  The  invalid  looked 
him  over  from  head  to  foot,  with  something  of  the  pride  of 
a  father,  his  eyes  lighting  up  and  his  strength  and  energy 
returning  as  he  questioned  him  about  his  success  at  Cam- 
bridge. Joscelyn  told  all  gladly  enough.  But  presently 
there  came  a  pause,  which  was  broken  at  length  by  the  old 
man. 

"And  now,  my  son,"  he  said,  "what  will  you  do  with 
your  life  ?" 

"Ah,  sir,"  cried  Joscelyn,  "that  is  the  question  that  is 
haunting  me.  What  can  I  do  ?  What  ought  I  to  do  ?" 

Then  with  perfect  frankness  he  told  all  the  story  of  that 
day,  and  of  the  strange  way  in  which  its  events  had  im- 
pressed him.  "  Only  counsel  me,"  he  prayed,  "  and  I  will 
gladly  follow  your  counsel." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his  head,  "  how  can  I 
do  that,  lad,  when  I,  too,  am  sorely  perplexed  ?  God  in  His 
mercy  will  take  me  away  from  these  troubled  times  in  which 
we  see  but  through  a  glass  darkly.  And  as  for  you — why, 
you  must  seek  for  wisdom  where  only  it  can  be  found." 

"  Yet  if  you  do  not  know,  sir,  how  can  I  hope  to  do  so  ?" 
said  Joscelyn. 

"We  can  always  see  as  far  as  the  next  needful  step," 
said  the  dying  man.  "  The  days  of  my  pilgrimage  are  over, 
but  yours  are  only  beginning — therefore  be  sure  light  will 
come." 

"But  there  is  no  time,"  said  Joscelyn,  his  voice  full  of 
distress.  "  To-morrow  I  must  go  back  to  Hampshire,  must 
set  actively  to  work  in  the  King's  cause.  My  father  has 
already  commanded  me." 

"  Lad,"  said  the  old  man,  starting  up  eagerly,  "  do  noth- 
ing in  this  matter  till  you  can  do  it  with  your  whole  heart 


22 

and  soul.  You  can  serve  neither  King  nor  country  till  you 
have  the  consciousness  of  right.  Let  your  motto  through 
life  be  Mens  conscia  recti — without  that  your  work  will  be 
worthless." 

"I  am  full  of  ignorance,"  said  Joscelyn,  despondently. 
"  How  can  I  judge — how  even  search  into  all  these  vital 
questions  ?  And  besides,  as  I  said,  there  is  no  time,  I  must 
set  out  to-morrow.  And  to  speak  of  examining  into  the 
rights  of  the  case  would  almost  madden  my  father,  who 
deems  the  King  irresponsible,  and  of  necessity  in  the 
right." 

"True,  and  as  yet  you  do  not  know  but  that  you  may 
come  to  see  with  him,"  said  the  invalid,  musingly.  Then 
after  a  silence  :  "  But  see,  lad,  you  commit  yourself  to  noth- 
ing by  riding  home  to  Shortell  Manor,  and,  as  you  ride,  pray 
for  guidance.  There  is  only  one  help  for  a  man  in  your 
plight.  '  Where  shall  wisdom  be  found  ?  And  where  is 
the  place  of  understanding  ?  God  understandeth  the  way 
thereof,  and  He  knoweth  the  place  thereof.  For  He  look- 
eth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  seeth  under  the  whole 
heavens.' " 

He  lay  back  again  on  the  pillows  exhausted,  and  for 
many  minutes  there  was  unbroken  quiet  in  the  room. 
After  a  while  the  servant  entered  with  a  message. 

"  Sir  Thomas  Heyworth  was  below,  come  to  inquire  after 
Mr.  Gainsborough's  health ;  also  he  wished  Mr.  Heyworth 
to  come  with  him  at  once,  as  there  was  a  likelihood  that  he 
could  be  presented  to  the  King." 

Joscelyn  rose  reluctantly. 

"Yes,  lad,  you  must  go,"  said  his  godfather;  "yet  come 
back  to  me  again.  Come  to  me  by  nine  of  the  clock,  and 
watch  with  me  through  the  night.  'Tis  the  last  time  I  shall 
see  you  in  this  world." 

Joscelyn  sighed  heavily.     In  his  miserable  perplexity  he 


23 

would  gladly  have  changed  places  with  the  dying  man, 
and  with  infinite  unwillingness  he  left  the  quiet  room,  and, 
joining  his  father  below,  walked  with  him  to  the  bishop's 
palace,  where  the  King  had  taken  up  his  quarters. 

Sir  Thomas  talked  fast  and  cheerfully,  and  as  they 
crossed  the  Minster  Green,  Dick  met  them,  full  of  excite- 
ment at  the  prospect  of  his  presentation.  But  Joscelyn 
had  the  strangest  feeling  of  unreality,  for  the  weight  of  the 
problem  upon  which  he  must  so  soon  decide  overpowered 
all  else,  and  afterwards  he  had  the  most  indistinct  recollec- 
tion of  what  had  passed.  He  could  merely  remember  the 
entrance  into  the  stately  palace,  the  first  sight  of  the  grand 
banqueting-hall  thronged  with  the  Lincolnshire  gentry  who 
had  flocked  into  the  city  to  show  their  loyalty,  and  the 
extreme  sadness  of  the  King's  eyes  as  they  met  his  at  his 
presentation. 

All  was  over  very  quickly,  and  he  found  himself  once 
more  in  the  open  air  with  Dick  talking  and  laughing  beside 
him,  glad  that  the  ceremony  was  ended  and  full  of  the 
King's  praises.  Joscelyn  hardly  heard  him.  He  was  lost 
in  thought.  Was  it,  he  wondered,  the  death  of  Strafford 
that  had  brought  the  melancholy  look  to  those  eyes  that 
haunted  him  ?  Was  it  the  thought  of  the  threatened  re- 
bellion ?  Was  it  distrust  of  his  own  advisers?  Stories  that 
he  had  heard  at  Cambridge  about  the  King's  lack  of  honor 
and  trustworthiness  returned  to  him  now,  forming  an  odd 
contrast  to  the  known  purity  and  strictness  of  his  life  in 
other  matters.  And  then  he  thought  of  his  cold  indiffer- 
ence to  the  harsh  treatment  of  poor  John  Drake  at  the 
Stonebow,  which  seemed  to  accord  so  ill  with  his  prover- 
bially religious  character.  Yet,  spite  of  the  chilling  effect 
of  the  King's  want  of  geniality,  Joscelyn  was  far  from  har- 
boring any  enmity  against  him.  Only  the  baffling  question 
returned  to  him  again  and  again,  "  Who  were  his  Majesty's 


24 

true  enemies  ?"  And  how  was  he  to  fight  for  that  justice 
for  which  the  dying  victim  of  a  hateful  tyranny  had  so 
eagerly  pleaded  ? 

"  You  look  melancholy,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  said  pretty  Anne 
Barrington,  greeting  him  with  her  brightest  smile,  as  he  en- 
tered the  ball-room  a  little  later  on.  "  Is  it  the  thought  of 
the  war  that  makes  you  so  grave  ?" 

"  Maybe,"  he  replied,  smiling  a  little,  yet  sighing  too. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Anne,  looking  down  complacently 
at  her  little  pink  shoes,  "  I  think  it  is  a  delightful  prospect. 
We  shall  no  longer  die  of  dulness  and  ennui,  there  will  be 
stirring  news-letters  about  sieges  and  battles  and  heroism. 
It  will  be  like  living  in  a  French  romance." 

They  were  standing  together  in  an  oriel-window,  the 
shutters  had  not  been  closed,  the  casement  was  wide  open. 
Joscelyn  turned  away  from  the  brightly  lighted  room  and 
looked  out  into  the  summer  evening ;  glowing  sunset  hues 
still  lingered  in  the  west. 

"  Do  you  call  it  romance  ?"  he  cried,  bitterly.  "  Why, 
war  is  the  desolater — the  divider !" 

"  I  do  not  see  that,"  she  replied.  "  Of  course  we  shall 
all  be  on  the  right  side ;  all  people  of  birth  will  follow  the 
King." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  that  may  be,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  but 
in  any  case,  there  are  the  rest.  Do  you  make  no  account 
of  them  ?  You  are  a  woman,  and  cannot  realize  what  it 
will  be  actually  to  fight  your  own  fellow-countrymen  —  to 
fight,  perhaps,  for  a  cause  that  you  can't  even  understand." 

"  You  spoil  my  pleasure,"  said  Anne,  pouting.  "  What 
business  have  you  to  indulge  in  a  fit  of  the  dismals  on  this 
gala-day  ?  Come,  the  music  begins,  we  must  linger  here 
no  longer." 

Joscelyn,  with  a  sigh,  turned  away  from  the  open  win- 
dow, and  in  a  few  minutes  more  was  leading  Anne  through 


2$ 

the  stately  minuet.  How  he  wished  that  life  was  as  simple 
an  affair  as  this  dance,  and  that  one  could  master  its  in- 
tricacies by  unmistakable  rules !  Yet,  after  all,  were  there 
not  first  principles  upon  which  he  could  fall  back  ?  There 
was,  at  any  rate,  the  clear  duty  of  doing  all  that  in  him  lay 
to  study  the  question,  though  how  it  was  to  be  done,  and 
what  the  results  would  be,  he  could  not  imagine. 

The  minuet  was  followed  by  a  coranto — to  Whitelocke's 
music — one  of  the  most  popular  tunes  of  the  day.  Josce- 
lyn  watched  Anne  dancing  with  one  of  her  two  other 
favored  admirers  without  a  single  pang  of  envy.  Past 
and  present  seemed  curiously  lifeless,  blotted  out  by  the 
looming  shadow  of  the  future.  He  danced  mechanically, 
wondering  to  himself  that  so  gay  a  scene  could  seem  to 
him  so  strangely  sad.  Everything  he  had  once  enjoyed 
was  there  —  good  music,  a  good  floor,  general  popularity, 
Anne's  pretty  face  and  fascinating  smile ;  yet  his  heart  felt 
like  lead,  and  he  was  glad  when  nine  o'clock  sounded  the 
hour  of  his  release ;  glad  even  to  bid  Anne  good-by,  and  to 
find  himself  outside  in  the  cool  twilight.  On  reaching  the 
sick-room  once  more  he  found  Mr.  Gainsborough  rather 
worse,  yet  somehow  the  suffering  and  discomfort  of  the 
dying  man  accorded  better  with  his  feelings  than  the 
gayety  of  the  dance.  He  was  glad  to  be  here  —  glad  to 
wait  on  his  godfather,  and  to  watch  by  him  through  the 
silent  hours  of  the  night. 

At  intervals  they  talked ;  sometimes  of  their  mutual 
friend,  Mr.  Whichcote,  Joscelyn's  Cambridge  tutor,  some- 
times about  the  King  and  the  state  of  the  country,  some- 
times of  the  hope  of  a  speedy  reconciliation  with  the  Par- 
liament. 

Towards  midnight  the  old  man  broke  a  long  silence. 

"  I  feel  strangely  drowsy,"  he  said,  trying,  in  the  dim 
light,  to  make  out  his  godson's  features.  "  Do  you  get  to 


26 


sleep,  too,  lad,  or  you  will  be  weary  for  your  journey  to- 
morrow." 

He  motioned  him  nearer,  looked  at  him  searchingly,  and 
embraced  him  with  a  murmured  blessing. 

"  Do  you  know  the  meaning  of  your  name,  Joscelyn  ?"  he 
said,  a  smile  hovering  about  his  wan  lips.  "  It  means 
Justice." 

Having  said  that,  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  al- 
most immediately  dropped  asleep. 

Joscelyn  returned  to  the  huge  dimity-covered  arm-chair 
by  the  window  and  sat  listening  to  the  deep  breathing  of 
the  old  man,  and  watching  the  streak  of  light  from  the 
night-lamp  where  it  fell  athwart  the  great  beam  supporting 
the  ceiling.  Perhaps  it  was  only  now  that  he  fully  realized 
all  that  he  owed  to  Mr.  Gainsborough.  The  old  man  had, 
indeed,  done  much  to  train  his  mind,  to  implant  in  him  cer- 
tain vigorous  first  principles,  and  to  show  him  by  his  own 
life  the  power  of  gentleness  and  liberality.  He  had,  in  fact, 
taught  him  all  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  teach,  and  the 
time  had  come  when  the  two  were  to  be  parted — the  old 
man  to  go  to  his  rest,  the  young  man  to  step  forth  alone 
into  the  battle  of  life.  In  the  quiet  of  the  summer  dawn 
both  slept  heavily,  but  the  old  Prebendary's  face  was  full 
of  peace,  while  Joscelyn's  knitted  brow  and  flushed  cheek 
showed  that  even  in  his  dreams  he  wrestled  with  the  griev- 
ous problem  which  he  had  to  solve. 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  is  the  law  of  Heaven  that  you  shall  not  be  able  to  judge  what  is 
wise  .  .  .  unless  you  are  first  resolved  to  judge  what  is  just,  and  to  do 
it. — RUSKIN. 

"  You  have  already  breakfasted  ?"  asked  Sir  Thomas,  as 
the  next  morning  he  was  ushered  into  Mr.  Gainsborough's 
study,  where  his  son  had  just  risen  from  the  table.  "  Warm 
beer  ?  Eh  ?  No,  I  am  heated  with  walking  up  the  hill.  I'll 
take  nothing;  and  while  we  speak  of  it,  Joscelyn,  you'll  do 
well  in  this  matter  to  keep  an  eye  on  Dick.  Thank  God, 
I'm  a  sober  man  myself,  and  would  have  my  sons  the  same, 
but  Jervis  hath  gained  no  good  in  foreign  parts,  and  Dick 
from  sheer  good-nature  will  follow  his  lead  unless  you  have 
a  care.  How  is  your  godfather  ?" 

"  Still  sleeping  heavily,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "  and  the  doctor 
thinks,  sir,  he  will  never  regain  consciousness,  but  will  last 
a  few  days  in  this  state  and  then  die." 

He  spoke  very  quietly,  but  his  face  was  full  of  sadness. 

"  Poor  man !"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  Is  it  indeed  as  bad  as 
that  ?  Poor  man  !" 

Joscelyn  could  almost  have  smiled.  It  did  not  seem  to 
him  that  his  godfather  was  to  be  pitied ;  surely  he  was  in 
far  better  case  than  those  who  were  left  below  in  this  mis- 
erably perplexing  time — left,  not  knowing  where  to  turn  for 
advice.  The  thought  of  his  own  position  returned  to  him 
with  double  force.  He  sighed. 

"  Poor  lad  !"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  You  were  ever  fond  of 
him  and  he  of  you.  But  courage,  boy ;  your  life  lies  before 


28 


you,  and  in  these  stirring  times  even  you  younger  sons  may 
reasonably  hope  to  gain  a  good  position.  I  could  almost 
wish  you  were  the  eldest,  for  you  are  more  to  my  taste  now 
than  Jervis." 

"  I  scarce  knew  him,  he  was  so  changed,  sir ;  but  doubt- 
less a  few  weeks  in  England  will  bring  him  to  other  ways.''* 

Sir  Thomas  shook  his  head. 

"  He's  not  to  my  liking  at  all,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of 
pathos.  "  He  has  grown  dissolute,  extravagant,  godless — 
unlike  a  Heyworth.  But  you,  Joscelyn,  you  must  be  my 
right  hand.  I  look  to  you  now,  for  I  can't  deny  I'm  disap- 
pointed in  my  first-born — sorely  disappointed." 

"  It  was  the  first  time  his  father  had  ever  spoken  to  him 
confidentially,  and  the  evident  sadness  and  pain  in  his  face 
touched  Joscelyn  to  the  heart ;  he  spoke  the  eager  words  of 
comfort  and  affection  that  rose  naturally  to  his  lips. 

"  God  bless  you,  lad !"  said  Sir  Thomas,  with  one  of  the 
bright,  genuine  smiles  which  made  the  father  and  son  so 
much  alike.  "  I  look  to  you  to  do  me  credit,  to  prove  your- 
self a  true  Heyworth.  But  I  must  not  stay  longer.  His 
Majesty  will  by  this  have  spoken  with  Lord  Willoughby  of 
Erebie,  who  brought  him  a  promise  of  six  hundred  horse 
from  the  gentlemen  of  Lincolnshire,  and  when  that  is  ended 
the  court  will  leave  for  Beverley." 

"  You  wish  us  to  start  for  Shortell  this  day,  sir  ?"  asked 
Joscelyn.  "  It  would  not  be  possible  for  me  to  wait  on  my 
godfather  ?" 

"  Nay ;  better  start  at  once,"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  He 
may  linger  long  in  this  unconscious  state,  and  what  is  there 
you  could  do  for  him  ?  All  being  well,  Jervis  and  I  shall 
also  come  to  Shortell  in  two  or  three  weeks'  time,  but  do 
you  go  and  begin  the  work,  and  let  drilling  be  the  order  of 
the  day.  Farewell,  my  son  ;  a  safe  journey  to  you !" 

He  embraced  him  with  more  warmth  than  usual,  and 


29 

Joscelyn,  going  with  him  to  the  front  door,  watched  him  as 
he  crossed  the  green  and  disappeared  though  the  gateway 
leading  to  the  bishop's  palace.  It  was  not  until  he  lost 
sight  of  the  well-known  figure  that,  with  a  sudden  pang,  he 
remembered  that  before  he  again  met  his  father  he  must 
have  made  the  search  into  the  great  question  of  the  day 
upon  which  so  much  depended.  What  if  he  found  it  im- 
possible conscientiously  to  join  the  King's  side  and  make 
war  upon  the  Parliament  ?  What  if  his  study  of  the  just 
liberties  of  England  should  against  his  very  wish  divide  him 
from  his  father  ?  The  very  thought  tortured  him  ;  and  as 
though  to  escape  from  it  he  left  the  house,  turning  his  steps 
by  a  sort  of  instinct  towards  the  cathedral,  and  finally  en- 
tering his  favorite  south  doorway. 

Outside  there  had  been  the  glare  and  heat  of  the  summer 
day,  and  the  uncongenial  crowd  of  idlers  waiting  about  in 
hopes  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  King;  within  all  was 
quiet  and  cool,  and  full  of  that  beautiful  repose  which  Nat- 
ure herself  cannot  always  give,  but  which  is  seldom  want- 
ing in  a  nobly  designed  church.  He  sat  down  on  one  of 
the  stone  ledges  in  the  south  aisle,  and  looked  up  at  the 
exquisitely  carved  angels  in  the  triforium.  The  great  build- 
ing was  empty,  and  its  quiet  stilled  for  a  time  his  troubled 
thoughts.  Where  the  light  was  to  come  from  which  should 
lighten  his  ignorance  he  had  no  notion ;  he  only  knew  that 
it  was  bound  to  come.  With  his  whole  heart  he  desired  to 
do  right ;  the  rest  lay  with  God.  But  presently,  with  a  sud- 
den revulsion,  all  his  old  torments  returned.  It  was  true 
that  the  ordering  lay  with  God,  but  the  pain  of  it  lay  with 
him.  What  if  the  consciousness  of  right  brought  him  ruin 
in  this  world,  the  bitter  condemnation  of  all  he  loved? 
Worse  still — what  if  it  brought  him  into  actual  conflict  with 
his  father  and  Dick  ?  His  very  heart  sickened  as  the  vision 
rose  before  him  of  a  battle-field  and  the  faces  he  loved  con- 


30 

fronting  him  as  foes.  Could  even  this  be  borne  ?  Could 
duty  lead  any  man  in  so  cruel  a  path  ?  He  sprang  up  and 
paced  to  and  fro  in  the  aisle,  wrestling  with  the  horrible 
imagination,  praying  with  desperate  earnestness  the  prayer 
of  David :  "  Lead  me,  O  Lord,  in  Thy  righteousness,  be- 
cause of  my  enemies  :  make  Thy  way  plain  before  my  face." 

And  after  a  while  the  beautiful  silent  cathedral,  standing 
so  peacefully  in  the  midst  of  a  troubled  land,  calm  amid 
all  the  rage  of  the  people,  once  more  became  a  parable  to 
him.  He  wondered  whether  perhaps  it  had  witnessed  just 
such  a  conflict  as  his  in  the  past,  and  thought  of  all  the 
strife  and  contention  it  must  have  looked  down  on,  all  the 
long  years  of  civil  war  and  desolation  that  had  been  in 
England  since  first  it  was  built.  But  this  led  his  thoughts 
back  to  the  contentions  of  the  present,  the  wretched  sense 
of  his  own  ignorance  alternating  with  hopes  that  after  all 
war  might  be  averted  at  the  last,  or  that  he  might  be  able 
honestly  to  side  with  his  father.  Again  the  words  of  the 
dying  Puritan  rang  in  his  ear,  "  Fight  for  justice,  for 
justice !"  Again  his  godfather's  eyes  met  his,  reminding 
him  that  his  very  name  meant  Justice.  The  dread  of  doing 
wrong  began  to  drive  out  every  other  thought,  in  utter 
misery  he  fell  on  his  knees  and  prayed  more  desperately 
than  ever  for  light.  Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that 
only  yesterday  he  had  prayed  for  guidance,  that  no  answer 
had  apparently  been  given,  yet  that  in  doing  his  duty  he 
had  first  come  across  John  Drake,  and  then  had  received 
the  last  advice  of  his  godfather. 

Surely,  light  would  come. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  comforted.  Even  the  anguish  of  pos- 
sible family  division  faded  away  before  the  perception  that 
now  came  to  him  of  a  Higher  Union  which  outer  things 
were  powerless  to  break ;  and  leaving  the  cathedral,  he 
stepped  forth  once  more  into  the  world,  strong  with  the  one 


thought  which  could  help  him  through  his  strangely  perplex- 
ing life.     "  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  me." 

The  two  brothers  left  Lincoln  early  that  morning ;  left  it 
with  old  Mr.  Gainsborough  lying  unconscious  in  the  house 
in  Minster  Yard  ;  with  John  Drake's  body  just  placed  in  its 
coffin ;  with  King  Charles  courteously  thanking  the  gentle- 
men of  Lincolnshire  and  the  mayor,  John  Beck,  for  the 
troops  they  had  promised  to  raise;  with  the  old  "herde- 
groome  "  contentedly  minding  his  cattle  near  the  Eleanor 
Cross;  and  the  sun  shining  down  on  minster  and  castle  and 
clustering  houses  as  though,  spite  of  the  coming  desolation, 
he  would  cheer  the  hearts  of  men. 

Riding  all  through  that  Thursday,  all  through  Friday, 
though  not  a  little  tried  by  the  dust  and  heat,  Joscelyn  and 
Dick  having  stopped  at  Croydon  about  noon  on  Saturday 
to  bait  their  horses,  set  forth  once  more  at  three  o'clock,  in- 
tending to  reach  their  uncle's  house  at  Bletchingley  before 
night.  In  the  first  place  they  bore  a  letter  to  him  from  Sir 
Thomas,  and  in  the  second  place  they  counted  on  getting  a 
good  deal  of  help  and  advice  from  him,  since  he  was  an  old 
soldier,  too  much  maimed  for  fighting,  but  with  a  large  ex- 
perience, upon  which  these  two  intended  to  draw. 

Things  were  different  in  those  days,  and  the  brothers  hav- 
ing begun  their  Cambridge  career  at  the  ages  of  fifteen  and 
sixteen,  were  now,  at  its  close,  but  nineteen  and  twenty. 
Young,  inexperienced,  and  ignorant  of  the  world,  they  had 
the  great  merit  of  being  aware  of  the  fact,  and  Joscelyn  was 
not  without  hope  that  his  soldier  uncle  might  be  able  to 
solve  his  difficulties  for  him,  and  give  him  that  knowl- 
edge of  the  state  of  affairs  which  he  so  greatly  desired  to 
have. 

"  The  best  of  all  would  be  if  we  could  persuade  him  to 
come  on  with  us  to  Shortell,"  said  Dick,  as  they  slowly 


32 

mounted  a  long  hill.  "  He  would  do  more  with  the  train- 
ing in  a  week  than  you  and  I  in  a  month." 

"True,"  said  Joscelyn,  plucking  a  bit  of  traveller's  joy 
from  a  bush  as  they  rode  past.  "  My  mother  would  like  it, 
too,  and  little  Rosamond  will  bless  us,  for  she  is  mighty 
fond  of  my  uncle.  Good  Lord !  what  will  that  poor  child 
say  to  the  news  of  the  war  ?  She  is  too  tender  for  such 
times  as  these. " 

"  Yes ;  she  will  not  be  so  full  of  gay  excitement  as  Mis- 
tress Anne  Barrington,"  said  Dick,  stealing  a  glance  at  his 
brother.  "  Were  we  all  chopped  into  mince-meat  she  would 
but  say  that  it  made  life  like  a  romance." 

Joscelyn  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  The  novelty  of  war  will  soon  wear  off,  and  she  will  long 
for  peace  ;  or  perchance,  while  the  rest  of  the  world  is  fight- 
ing, she  will  marry  some  cathedral  dignitary." 

"With  your  benediction  ?"  said  Dick,  teasingly. 

"  Oh,  entirely,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  laugh.  "  '  She  is 
pretty  to  walk  with,  and  witty  to  talk  with,  and  pleasant, 
too,  to  think  upon,'  but  having  said  that  you  have  said  all." 

They  had  now,  by  winding  lanes,  reached  a  country 
church,  and  the  wide,  open  expanse  of  Coulesdon  Common 
lay  before  them  ;  it  was  a  fine  place  for  a  gallop,  and  by  the 
time  they  had  reached  the  little  village  of  Katterham  they 
were  all  glowing  with  the  exercise,  and  were  glad  to  slack- 
en their  pace  as  they  rode  past  the  pretty  thatched  cottages 
with  their  trim  gardens,  the  village  ale-house  standing  su- 
perior to  all  the  other  houses  in  the  glory  of  red  brick  and 
tiled  roof,  the  comfortable  old  rectory  sheltered  by  a  fine 
oak-tree,  and  then,  after  a  space,  with  a  gentleman's  park 
on  one  side  of  the  road  and  enclosed  fields  on  the  other, 
the  little  church  with  its  rustic  spire  and  peaceful  grave- 
yard. Just  at  this  point  the  lane  turned  sharply  round  to 
the  right,  running  along  the  brow  of  a  hill  and  overlooking 


33 

a  most  beautiful  valley — one  of  those  sweet,  wild,  wooded 
valleys  that  form  the  great  charm  of  Surrey.  The  road — a 
mere  track,  forming  an  old  right  of  way  through  private 
property — was  in  a  disgraceful  state,  and  its  ruts,  almost  as 
deep  as  ditches,  baked  hard  by  the  sun,  contrasted  ill  with 
Coulesdon  Common,  where  riding  had  been  keen  enjoy- 
ment. Just  at  this  point  they  saw  approaching  them  a 
family  coach,  a  large  lumbering  vehicle  which  swung  from 
side  to  side  as  the  fine  bay  horses  ploughed  their  way 
through  the  rough  lane.  The  two  brothers  drew  up  close 
to  the  hedge  which  skirted  the  road  on  the  one  side.  The 
way  was  very  narrow,  and  a  little  in  advance  it  was  made 
narrower  still,  for  some  one  had  left  a  wheelbarrow  near 
the  garden  wall  which  formed  the  other  boundary.  Now 
what  gives  horses  their  inveterate  dislike  to  wheelbarrows 
it  would  be  hard  to  say,  but  both  the  horses  belonging  to 
the  coach  shied  as  they  passed  the  hated  object,  and  the 
coachman  losing  for  a  time  his  control  over  them,  they 
plunged  violently  to  the  other  side  of  the  road.  An  ex- 
traordinary minute  of  confusion  followed,  the  cob  Joscelyn 
was  riding  reared  and  kicked  wildly,  and  in  the  end  the 
horse  and  rider  went  over  together,  to  the  great  consterna- 
tion of  Dick,  who,  being  behind  his  brother,  had  escaped 
the  danger.  Instantly  dismounting,  he  hastened  to  the  res- 
cue ,  the  coachman  managed  to  quiet  down  his  frightened 
horses,  while  the  coach  door  was  thrown  swiftly  open,  and 
a  young  girl  sprang  out,  paused  to  give  her  arm  to  an  old 
man  who  followed  her,  and  approached  just  as  Joscelyn, 
freed  from  the  weight  of  the  cob,  began  to  raise  himself 
and  to  look  round  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  I  fear,  sir,  that  you  must  be  hurt  ?"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, with  courteous  anxiety.     He  was  small,  shrivelled,  and 
wiry-looking,  with  a  clean-shaven  face  and  white  hair  almost 
as  long  as  Joscelyn's. 
3 


34 

"  It  was  the  fault  of  our  horses,  grandfather,"  said  a  sweet 
girlish  voice  at  his  elbow. 

Joscelyn  turned  round  that  he  might  see  the  speaker. 
She  must  have  been  about  his  own  age,  and  beside  the  little 
old  man  she  looked  very  tall ;  she  was  dressed  in  white,  with 
a  hood  of  black  velvet,  but  the  strings  were  untied  because 
of  the  heat,  and  the  hood  did  not  altogether  hide  the  dark 
chestnut  curls  which  alone  could  have  fitly  framed  such 
lovely  features.  It  was  rather  a  grave  face,  with  a  delicate 
glow  of  color  about  it,  with  long,  delicately  arched  eyebrows, 
and  well-opened  brown  eyes,  full  now  of  awe  and  concern — 
altogether  as  tender,  as  womanly  a  face  as  you  could  wish 
to  see.  Joscelyn  was  at  once  seized  with  a  burning  desire 
to  save  her  all  possible  trouble. 

"  Do  not,  pray,  be  troubled  about  me,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It 
is  nothing — I  was  but  stunned  for  the  moment." 

But  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  an  involuntary  exclamation 
escaped  him,  and  he  was  obliged  to  clutch  at  his  broth- 
er's arm. 

"  Something  wrong,  I  fear,"  said  the  old  man.  "  The 
knee,  if  I  mistake  not.  On  no  account  stand,  sir.  Here, 
Matthew,  help  the  gentleman  into  the  coach.  Nay,  sir,  I 
must  really  insist  upon  it ;  you  are  in  no  state  to  mount,  and 
might  greatly  increase  your  injury.  My  house  is  within  a 
stone's-throw,  and  we  will  do  all  that  we  can  to  make  you 
comfortable. 

Joscelyn  politely  protested,  but  the  old  gentleman  was  in- 
exorable, and  before  many  minutes  had  passed  he  found 
himself  on  the  back  seat  of  the  family  coach,  with  his  host 
and  the  pretty  granddaughter  sitting  opposite.  Driving 
through  a  gateway  close  by,  they  approached  a  well-built 
Tudor  house,  whose  massive  walls  and  mullioned  windows 
looked  as  if  they  might  very  well  stand  a  siege. 

"  Bid  them  prepare  a  bedchamber  on  the  ground-floor, 


35 

Clemency,"  said  the  grandfather,  "and  in  the  meantime  our 
guest  shall  rest  in  my  library,  and  the  surgeon,  who  by  good 
chance  came  this  day  from  Croydon,  and  is  at  the  dower- 
house,  shall  be  called  in  to  see  what  is  amiss." 

"  Clemency,"  mused  Joscelyn  ;  "  what  a  strange  name ! 
It  has  a  Puritanical  sound,  yet  spite  of  that  I  think  it 
suits  her.  I  never  saw  so  gentle  a  face  that  was  yet  so 
strong." 

He  began  to  wonder  who  his  host  could  be,  and  per- 
haps the  old  man  had  the  same  thoughts  about  him,  for 
he  asked  if  they  had  intended  making  a  long  journey  that 
night. 

"  We  had  but  a  few  miles  still  before  us,"  said  Joscelyn. 
"  We  were  to  lie  at  the  house  of  my  uncle,  Sir  Ralph  Whit- 
field,  of  Bletchingley.  If  the  surgeon,  indeed,  forbids  me  to 
travel,  my  brother  must  go  on  alone." 

"  I  have  long  known  Sir  Ralph.  Are  you  then  a  Whit- 
field  ?" 

"  It  was  our  mother's  name.  We  are  Heyworths,  of 
Shortell,  in  Hampshire." 

"  What,  sons  of  Sir  Thomas  Heyworth  ?" 

"  Is  it  possible  you  know  him  ?"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  Nay,  he  would  not  remember  me,"  said  the  old  man ; 
"  but  many  years  ago,  when  I  was  imprisoned  in  Hampshire, 
I  recollect  seeing  him.  Now,  sir,  my  man  shall  help  you 
into  the  house.  Take  your  time." 

Not  without  considerable  pain,  Joscelyn  was  led  through 
a  square  entrance-hall  into  a  most  comfortable  room,  where 
the  servants  helped  him  on  to  a  sort  of  couch  of  carved  oak 
and  cane-work.  The  words,  "  imprisoned  in  Hampshire," 
kept  ringing  in  his  ears.  What  did  they  portend  ?  And 
who  was  this  brisk,  wiry  old  gentleman  ? 

His  question  was  answered  by  almost  the  first  thing  his 
eyes  fell  on.  Close  by  the  couch  stood  a  small  table,  and 


36 

on  this  lay  a  letter  directed  in  handwriting  which  could  be 
read  at  a  glance: 

"To  Sir  Robert  Neal, 

At  the  Court  House,  Katterham, 
In  the  County  of  Surrey." 

At  that  moment  Sir  Robert  himself  entered  with  Dick, 
and  while  they  were  still  talking  together  about  the  accident 
and  the  state  of  Joscelyn's  horse,  which  had  luckily  escaped 
without  any  serious  injury,  the  surgeon  was  announced. 

It  proved  that  Joscelyn,  like  the  cob,  had  escaped  better 
than  could  have  been  expected  ;  but  his  knee  was  injured, 
and  would  need  absolute  rest  for  at  least  three  weeks. 

"Three  weeks!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  curious  sound  of 
relief  in  his  voice  rather  than  of  dismay. 

Dick,  on  the  other  hand,  turned  away  in  high  disgust, 
swearing  vehemently,  so  that  he  did  not  see  the  look  of  sat- 
isfaction in  his  brother's  face ;  but  Sir  Robert  saw  it,  and 
was  puzzled  as  to  its  meaning. 

Joscelyn  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  a  deep  reverie.  The 
fact  was  he  had  just  realized  that  here  was  the  help  he  so 
sorely  needed ;  here  the  time  for  thought  and  study ;  here 
the  means  of  keeping  him  from  Shortell  and  the  active 
preparation  for  war.  He  had  believed  all  his  life  in  prayer, 
and  yet  he  was  awed  and  startled  by  this  direct  answer, 
and  something  of  this  expression  showed  in  his  face,  min- 
gling with  the  deep  relief.  Sir  Robert  watched  him  search- 
ingly ;  he  felt  strangely  drawn  to  his  guest,  all  the  more  so 
because  he  could  not  quite  understand  him. 

"  But,  sir,"  exclaimed  Joscelyn,  coming  to  himself  again, 
"  since  I  am  to  be  laid  up  so  long,  I  cannot  consent  to  be  a 
burden  on  you.  If  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  lend  me 
your  coach,  I  will  go  back  to  the  village  inn." 


37 

To  this,  however,  Sir  Robert  would  not  listen  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"The  accident  was  caused  entirely  by  my  horses,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  could  not  think  of  allowing  you  to  move  to 
the  village.  Entire  rest  for  three  weeks  will  no  doubt  quite 
cure  you,  and  we  shall  be  most  happy  to  have  you  as  our 
guest.  And  you,  sir,"  turning  to  Dick,  "you  will,  at  any 
rate,  spend  the  night  here,  I  hope." 

Dick  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy,  but  would  not  con- 
sent to  stay.  "  For  my  brother  there  is,  I  fear,  little  that  I 
can  do,"  he  said.  "  My  father  has  intrusted  us  with  pre- 
paring a  troop  for  the  King's  service,  and  since  the  stand- 
ard is  to  be  raised  next  month,  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

Joscelyn  fancied  he  saw  a  queer  little  elevation  of  Sir 
Robert's  brows.  The  old  man,  however,  made  no  com- 
ment on  the  words,  but  merely  summoned  the  servant,  and 
bade  him  bring  in  cakes  and  ale  at  once.  Dick,  having  re- 
freshed himself,  took  leave,  and  promising  to  make  light  of 
the  accident  at  home,  he  parted  with  his  brother,  murmur- 
ing not  a  little  that  fate  should  have  marred  their  plans 
and  left  him  to  work  single-handed.  Sir  Robert  went  with 
him  to  the  door,  and  on  returning  to  the  library  a  little 
later  was  struck  by  the  extreme  sadness  in  his  guest's 
face. 

"  I  fear  this  accident  is  a  great  inconvenience  to  you,"  he 
remarked,  drawing  up  an  arm-chair  towards  the  couch,  de- 
termined to  understand  this  youth  a  little  better. 

Joscelyn  started  as  though  recalled  from  painful  thoughts. 

"  I  was  wondering  how  my  brother  and  I  should  meet 
again,"  he  said.  "  But  in  truth  the  accident  itself  is  a  god- 
send to  me  and  no  inconvenience.  It  was  time  that  I 
needed — time  to  think,  to  try  at  least  to  see  the  rights  of 
the  case  before  taking  up  arms." 

Sir  Robert's  eyes  kindled. 


38 

"Yours  is  the  right  spirit,"  he  said,  warmly.  "  Too  many, 
I  fear,  on  either  side  will  rush  blindly  into  the  fray  before 
they  have  truly  weighed  the  matter  in  their  own  minds. 
Tis  hard  for  the  young  not  to  yield  to  the  first  impulse,  not 
to  follow  the  lead  of  their  friends  and  companions." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  heavy  sigh.  "To 
stand  aloof  from  all  that  one's  own  set,  one's  own  family, 
hold  by,  to  be  looked  on  as  a  traitor,  a  foe ! — God  grant  it 
may  not  come  to  it !  But  I  must,  at  any  rate,  try  to  under- 
stand something  of  the  state  of  the  country,  and  here  in 
this  three  weeks'  quiet  lies  my  sole  chance." 

"  How  is  it,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that  you  are  so  unlike 
the  rest  of  your  generation  ?  I  should  have  expected  you 
at  your  age  to  be  a  hot  partisan." 

"  It  is  because  I  have  never  gone  into  these  matters,  sir," 
replied  Joscelyn.  ' 

"  Neither  does  your  fiery  partisan,  as  a  rule,"  said  Sir 
Robert.  "  He  merely  echoes  the  views  of  his  set ;  you  will 
rarely  find  him  seriously  studying  politics." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  because  I  hate  all  strife  and 
division." 

Sir  Robert  mused  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  looked  up 
kindly  at  his  guest,  and  said : 

"  Your  position  interests  me  greatly.  But  I  cannot  alto- 
gether fathom  it  till  I  know  what  has  been  your  life  in  the 
past.  'Tis  from  no  curiosity  I  ask,  but  only  because  it  may 
perchance  lie  in  my  power  to  help  you  if  we  fairly  under- 
stand one  another." 

"  My  life  is  soon  disposed  of,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "  never 
surely  was  there  a  less  eventful  one.  We  were  all  brought 
up  at  Shortell  Manor,  in  Hampshire,  and  had  a  happy 
enough  childhood.  As  to  what  was  happening  in  the  coun- 
try, we  knew  nothing  whatever  about  it.  The  sole  thing 
relating  to  public  affairs  which  I  can  remember  is  the  stir 


39 

in  the  village  when  the  communion-table  was  moved  by  the 
archbishop's  orders  from  the  middle  of  the  nave,  where  it 
had  stood  since  the  Reformation,  to  the  east  end  of  the 
chancel.  I  was  eleven  years  old  then,  and  well  remember 
how  our  old  coachman  groaned  aloud  and  declared  it  meant 
bringing  in  the  papists.  To  me  it  seemed  a  vast  improve- 
ment, for  before  the  men  of  the  village  used  to  pile  up  their 
greasy  hats  on  it  in  a  way  which  would  not  have  been  toler- 
ated on  any  gentleman's  dining-table.  Later  on  I  remem- 
ber, too,  that  we  were  bidden,  though  not  forced,  to  bow  to 
the  communion-table  on  entering  or  leaving  the  church,  and 
my  mother  took  it  ill  that  I  could  not  be  brought  to  do  this, 
not  rightly  seeing  the  sense  of  the  practice.  As  for  school- 
ing, my  brother  and  I  went  to  Winchester.  I  was  there  till 
I  was  fifteen,  and  then  was  at  home  for  a  year  with  sore 
eyes,  which  for  the  best  part  of  a  twelvemonth  kept  me 
prisoner  in  a  darkened  room.  'Twas  at  that  time  I  first 
learned  to  think ;  there  was  naught  else  to  do.  My  eyes 
cured,  I  went  to  Cambridge  with  my  brother.  We  were  at 
Emmanuel,  and  our  tutor  was  one  Mr.  Whichcote." 

"Whichcote!"  exclaimed  Sir  Robert.  "I  have  heard 
much  of  him  ;  a  noble-minded  man,  and  as  fine  a  scholar  as 
any  in  the  land.  You  were  fortunate,  sir,  to  be  under  the 
tuition  of  such  a  one." 

"  From  him,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  I  learned  the  answer  to  the 
doubts  and  thoughts  which  had  assailed  me  in  my  year  of 
illness.  Some  men  deem  him  a  Puritan ;  but  that  must  be 
a  mistaken  notion,  for  a  man  less  dogmatic  and  narrow,  less 
given  to  gloomy  fanaticism,  never  existed." 

Sir  Robert  laughed  a  little ;  his  shrewd,  humorous  face 
lighted  up  with  keen  enjoyment. 

"  I  am  a  Puritan  myself,"  he  said,  "  yet  would  I  not  for 
the  world  force  all  men  to  agree  with  me.  'Tis  enough  if 
we  agree  upon  the  duty  towards  God  and  the  duty  towards 


40 

our  neighbor.  Let  me  persuade  you,  Mr.  Heyworth,  that 
all  Puritans  are  not  sour,  cross-grained,  melancholy,  and 
ignorant,  as  the  stage-plays  and  the  songs  of  the  day  would 
have  you  think ;  'tis  but  a  few  of  a  fanatical  turn  that  per- 
sist in  cropped  hair  and  ostentatious  piety ;  the  bulk  of  us 
desired  only  to  see  temperance  and  godliness  and  a  just 
liberty  in  our  country.  I'll  be  bound  you  think  no  Puritan 
could  play  a  game  of  tennis,  or  sing  a  song,  or  enjoy  the 
chase.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

Joscelyn  hesitated,  not  a  little  confused,  for  Sir  Robert 
had  rightly  guessed  his  thoughts.  John  Drake  was  precise- 
ly his  idea  of  a  Puritan,  and  that  Sir  Robert,  with  his  genial 
laugh,  his  long  hair,  his  air  of  good -breeding,  should  be 
classed  among  Roundheads  (the  derisive  name  now  in 
vogue  for  those  who  held  with  the  Parliament)  seemed  to 
him  laughable. 

Just  then  Clemency  returned  to  the  library. 

"  Your  room  is  prepared,  sir,"  she  said  to  Joscelyn ; 
"  'tis  the  one  adjoining  this,  so  that  you  will  not  have  far  to 
move." 

"  And  let  us  have  supper  presently  in  here,  my  child," 
said  Sir  Robert.  "  Where  is  your  sister  Faith  ?" 

"  She  is  in  the  park  with  the  children.  The  hay  is  to  be 
carried  this  evening,  sir,  and  the  children  were  promised  to 
ride  in  the  wagon." 

"  Then,  unless  you  desire  to  be  with  them,  dear,  stay  and 
cheer  Mr.  Heyworth  with  a  song.  He  hath  till  this  fully 
believed  that  we  Puritans  could  sing  naught  but  psalms, 
that  we  forever  showed  our  piety  by  upturned  eyes  and 
nasal  voice,  and  were  in  fact  the  hypocritical  and  melan- 
choly folk  that  the  wits  represent." 

Clemency  laughed  as  she  took  her  guitar  and  sat  down 
near  the  window;  for  a  moment  a  sort  of  shyness  stole  over 
her,  but  a  glance  at  Joscelyn's  eager  face  dispelled  it,  and 


she  thought  to  herself  that  he  would  prove  no  very  severe 
critic.  Perhaps  it  was  on  purpose  that  she  selected  Ariel's 
song  from  the  "  Tempest,"  the  most  joyous  of  all  the  songs 
in  her  collection,  and  the  old  panelled  room  rang  with  the 
sweet  tones  of  her  fresh  young  voice.  As  she  finished,  and 
as  Joscelyn  poured  out  compliments  and  thanks,  Sir  Robert 
crossed  the  room  to  the  window. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  there  goes  the  last  wagon-load,  and  the 
children  following  it." 

Clemency  stood  up,  one  hand  still  resting  on  the  guitar 
as  she  looked  out  into  the  sunny,  peaceful  park.  They 
could  hear  the  hay-harvest  song  in  the  shrill  voices  of  the 
children,  and  in  the  loud,  uncouth  tones  of  the  hay-makers. 
But  somehow  the  merry  sounds  brought  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  weep,  child  ?"  said  her  grandfather,  turning 
towards  her. 

She  hastily  wiped  away  her  tears,  blushing  to  think  that 
he  had  called  attention  to  them. 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "of  the  changes  that  must 
have  come  by  next  hay -harvest.  Faith  married  and  gone 
to  Gloucester,  and  the  country,  very  like,  full  of  war  and 
bloodshed,  this  very  house,  perchance,  destroyed." 

The  old  man  put  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  tenderly. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  "  troubles  there  will  be,  you  may  be 
sure ;  nevertheless,  go  not  half-way  to  meet  them.  If  you 
look  forward,  then  look  beyond  them,  and  think  of  the  hap- 
piness and  freedom  bought  for  the  generations  to  come  by 
the  strife  of  to-day." 

Joscelyn  saw  her  smile  through  her  tears  as  she  looked 
forth  once  more  at  the  peaceful  landscape;  the  heavily  load- 
ed wagon  was  just  disappearing  from  view,  and  the  children 
came  running  towards  the  house,  their  little  wooden  rakes 
and  forks  carried  over  their  shoulders,  and  the  words  of  the 
song  growing  more  and  more  distinct  as  they  approached. 


CHAPTER   IV 

New  occasions  teach  new  duties  ; 

Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth  ; 
They  must  upward  still  and  onward 

Who  would  keep  abreast  with  truth. 

— LOWELL. 

CLEMENCY  CORITON'S  life  had  been  in  some  respects  a 
sad  one ;  it  was  not,  as  Joscelyn  had  at  first  fancied,  her 
Puritanical  training  which  had  brought  the  serious  look 
into  her  beautiful  face  and  the  thoughtful  depth  into  her 
eyes.  Her  mother,  the  only  child  and  heiress  of  Sir  Rob- 
ert Neal,  had  married  a  neighboring  squire,  Mr.  Coriton, 
but  had  died  when  Clemency  was  only  a  year  old.  A  year 
later  her  father  married  again,  and  for  some  time  Clemen- 
cy's life  had  been  serene  and  happy.  Not  all  the  foolish 
gossip  of  the  servants  could  induce  her  to  distrust  one  so 
tender  and  loving  as  her  step-mother,  or  to  feel  the  slightest 
jealousy  of  the  little  sisters  as  one  by  one  they  came  to 
gladden  her  lonely  nursery.  But  when  she  was  nearly 
seventeen,  growing  day  by  day  more  of  a  companion  to 
her  step -mother,  a  terrible  shadow  fell  over  the  happy 
home. 

In  one  day  two  of  the  children  fell  ill  of  the  plague. 
Clemency,  with  Faith,  Hester,  Prudence,  and  little  Hal, 
were  at  once  sent  away  to  Sir  Robert  Neal's  house,  a  few 
miles  off,  and  that  hurried  departure  proved  their  final  fare- 
well to  the  home  that  had  grown  so  dear  to  them.  For, 
first,  Molly  and  little  Robert  died,  then  their  father  sickened 
and  died  after  only  a  day's  illness,  and,  last  of  all,  the  poor 


43 

mother,  worn  out  by  grief  and  watching,  sank  from  exhaus- 
tion, after  giving  birth  to  a  little  girl  who  seemed  too  puny 
and  frail  to  live.  By  the  mother's  wish  she  was  baptized  at 
once  by. the  strange  name  of  Admonition,  "for,"  said  the 
dying  woman,  "  God  hath  taught  me  to  look  for  lasting 
joys  not  in  this  world,  but  elsewhere." 

The  nurse  bade  her  keep  up  her  heart,  for  she  would  yet 
live  and  be  spared  to  her  children.  But  she  herself  knew 
better,  and  after  lingering  a  day  or  two  between  death  and 
life,  she  passed  away  quietly  in  her  sleep.  The  last  words 
she  had  spoken  were  for  Clemency. 

"  Tell  her,"  she  said  to  the  nurse,  "  to  love  and  tend  my 
babe  for  me  as  I  loved  and  tended  her  for  her  dead  mother. 
Tell  her  I  bless  God  for  giving  me  so  sweet  a  step-daughter, 
and  my  children  so  good  a  sister  for  an  example." 

A  month  later,  little  Admonition,  still  very  frail  and  tiny, 
was  brought  to  Katterham  Court,  and  Clemency,  in  her  sor- 
row, found  her  best  comfort  in  striving  to  obey  to  the  ut- 
most her  step-mother's  dying  message,  repaying  to  the  best 
of  her  powers  the  love  and  care  which  had  made  her  own 
childhood  so  bright.  This  terrible  visitation  had  happened 
four  years  ago,  and  since  then  Chaldon  Manor  had  been 
closed,  and  old  Sir  Robert's  house  had  become  the  home, 
not  only  of  his  own  granddaughter,  but  of  all  the  Coritons. 
To  become  mistress  of  so  large  an  establishment,  and  to  be 
at  once  elder  sister  and  second  mother  to  so  many  children, 
taxed  Clemency's  powers  not  a  little,  and  though  at  times 
she  was  merry  and  light-hearted,  yet,  as  a  rule,  there  was 
about  her  a  sort  of  sweet  seriousness  which  made  her  seem 
older  than  she  really  was.  Joscelyn  had  ample  opportuni- 
ties of  noticing  this,  and  unconsciously  fell  into  the  habit 
which  prevailed  in  the  household  of  leaning  on  Clemency, 
looking  up  to  her  for  counsel,  and  waiting  on  her  words 
with  a  curious  deference,  as  though  she  had  been  his  senior. 


44 

Beautiful  and  winsome  as  she  was,  he  nevertheless  remained 
perfectly  heart-whole;  she  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of  guardian 
angel ;  there  was  a  far-away  look  in  her  face  sometimes  as 
if  she  were  seeing  what  was  invisible  to  other  people ;  and 
though  when  she^waited  on  him  her  eyes  were  gentle  and 
full  of  sympathy,  they  were  totally  lacking  in  the  deliberate 
witchery  that  made  the  glances  of  Anne  Barrington  able  to 
inthrall  every  man  she  came  across,  and  to  hold  him  her 
prisoner  for  days  or  weeks — even  occasionally  for  months. 

Clemency,  it  is  true,  had  received  many  offers  of  mar- 
riage, but  they  had  been  formal  affairs,  with  very  little  pre- 
amble of  courtship,  for  she  was  shy  and  rather  distant  in 
manner  to  outsiders,  rarely  revealing  her  true  self  save  to 
those  who  actually  shared  her  home.  It  was  now  pretty 
well  understood  in  the  neighborhood  that  Mistress  Coriton 
intended  to  follow  good  Queen  Bess  in  the  path  of  single 
blessedness ;  her  lovers  —  or  servants,  as  they  were  then 
called — bemoaned  their  hard  fate,  and  protested  that  it  was 
a  cruel  thing  for  the  heiress  to  Sir  Robert  NeaPs  estate  to 
show  so  singular  an  aversion  to  the  holy  estate  of  matri- 
mony ;  but  her  refusals  were  always  so  very  decided  that 
they  seldom  approached  her  a  second  time,  and  Sir  Robert 
never  sought  in  any  way  to  influence  her  choice.  Her  half- 
sister  Faith  had  behaved  far  more  reasonably,  and  had  ac- 
cepted the  first  man  who  had  proposed  to  her — worthy  Mr. 
Christopher  Bennett,  of  Gloucester — and  Joscelyn  was  not 
a  little  dismayed  to  learn  that  her  marriage  was  to  take 
place  in  a  week's  time. 

"  You  will  at  least  let  me  be  removed  to  the  village,  then," 
he  said.  "At  such  a  time  as  a  wedding  the  Good  Samar- 
itan himself  would  not  have  housed  a  sick  stranger." 

Clemency  laughed  a  little. 

"  But,  indeed,  you  will  not  be  in  the  way,"  she  protested. 
"Both  Faith  and  Mr.  Bennett  refuse  to  hear  of  a  public 


45 

wedding.  All  will  be  quite  quiet,  and  we  expect  only  two 
guests — a  brother  of  Mr.  Bennett's,  and  a  friend  of  my 
grandfather's,  Mr.  John  Hampden.  It  is  even  a  little  un- 
certain whether  Mr.  Hampden  will  be  able  to  come,  since 
his  duties  in  Parliament  and  the  preparations  for  war  oc- 
cupy him  much." 

"  I  have  read  of  him  in  these  pamphlets  which  Sir  Robert 
has  given  me,"  said  Joscelyn,  laying  his  hand  on  a  great 
stack  of  printed  papers  beside  him. 

Clemency  looked  up  sympathetically. 

"They  must  be  weary  reading,"  she  said.  "Methinks 
one  hour's  talk  with  Mr.  Hampden  will  do  more  to  tell  you 
the  true  state  of  the  country  than  many  months'  study  of 
those." 

"At  least  he  is  true  to  his  own  convictions,"  said  Joscelyn, 
musingly.  "  He  has  endured  imprisonment  and  obloquy. 
Is  he  much  soured  by  it  all  ?" 

Clemency  laughed  aloud — a  ringing,  girlish  laugh,  full  of 
mirth. 

"  Why,  he  is  the  most  sweet-natured  and  courteous  man 
you  ever  set  eyes  on,"  she  exclaimed.  "  His  health  has 
never  been  the  same  since  he  was  imprisoned  in  the  Gate 
House,  but  he  himself  can  only  have  been  ennobled  by  it. 
My  grandfather  always  says  that  he  is  the  greatest  man  in 
England,  and,  indeed,  I  believe  it.  He  is  to  me  like  the  man 
whom  David  described  in  the  fifteenth  Psalm.  And  though 
he  is  much  sought  and  full  of  affairs,  yet  he  will  spend  time 
and  trouble  on  the  least  and  the  poorest." 

She  crossed  the  room  to  a  curious  tortoise-shell  cabinet, 
and,  unlocking  the  inner  compartment,  drew  forth  a  letter 
and  handed  it  to  Joscelyn. 

"  This  will  show  you  in  some  degree  what  sort  of  man  he 
is.  He  wrote  it  to  me  when  I  was  but  a  girl,  barely  seven- 
teen. Yet  he — a  man  overwhelmed  with  work — took  time 


46 

to  think  of  the  granddaughter  of  one  who  had  been  kind  to 
him  as  a  boy." 

Joscelyn  read  the  letter ;  it  unveiled  to  him  the  sad  trag- 
edy of  the  Coriton  family,  but  it  revealed,  too,  as  Clemency 
had  guessed  it  would  reveal,  the  beautiful  nature  of  the 
writer — his  wide  sympathies,  his  perfect  faith,  his  delicate 
chivalry.  He  began  to  look  forward  very  eagerly  to  meet- 
ing this  resister  of  ship  money,  this  champion  of  liberty, 
who,  to  judge  by  his  letter,  was  entirely  free  from  the 
pharisaic  pride  and  the  narrow  exclusiveness  which  he  had 
always  fancied  must  characterize  the  opponents  of  the 
King. 

As  Clemency  had  remarked,  the  study  of  the  pamphlets 
of  the  day  was  weary  work.  He  read  the  Third  Remon- 
strance, the  various  declarations,  the  general  accounts  of 
the  kingdom  published  by  the  Parliament;  he  read  the 
King's  answers,  and  also  the  Observations  made  on  the 
King's  answer  to  the  Lords  and  Commons  of  the  igth  May, 
1642  ;  his  answer  to  the  Somersetshire  petition,  and  a 
pamphlet  on  some  "  of  his  Majesty's  late  answers  and  ex- 
presses." In  the  bewildering  maze  of  strife  he  wandered 
to  and  fro,  miserably  seeking  some  sort  of  conviction  in 
which  he  might  find  anchorage,  while  Sir  Robert  said  little, 
but  merely  kept  him  supplied  with  the  literature  of  both 
sides.  He  used  to  turn  away  with  relief  sometimes  to  the 
busy  wedding  preparations  which  were  beginning  to  make 
a  stir  in  the  quiet  country  household.  Faith,  the  pretty 
bride-elect,  would  come  and  talk  with  him  about  her  new 
home  in  Gloucester,  or  her  wedding  gifts  ;  little  Admonition, 
or  Monnie  as  she  was  always  called,  would  trot  up  to  his 
couch  and  tell  of  the  great  bride-cake  which  cook  had  made, 
and  of  the  sweetmeats  and  comfits  prepared  for  the  day ;  or 
Clemency  would  sit  in  the  window-seat  working  hard  at  a 
piece  of  embroidery  to  be  worn  by  her  sister  at  the  marriage, 


47 

and  would  talk  of  the  separation  she  so  much  dreaded,  and 
of  the  woful  distance  between  Katterham  and  Gloucester. 

Nothing,  however,  could  banish  for  long  the  haunting 
question  upon  which  Joscelyn  was  bound  to  decide  ,  he 
grew  very  grave  and  thoughtful,  even  little  Monnie  could 
seldom  rouse  him  fr6m  his  anxious  and  harassed  musing. 
The  child  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  on  the  evening  before 
the  wedding,  finding  the  rest  of  the  world  too  busy  to  take 
much  notice  of  her,  she  sat  for  more  than  an  hour  beside 
him,  her  fat  little  fingers  busily  working  at  a  daisy  chain. 
An  artist  would  have  loved  to  paint  her  quaint  little  babyish 
face  with  its  air  of  intent  preoccupation,  her  sunny  curls, 
and  her  demure  little  white  frock  reaching  almost  to  the 
ground.  And  perhaps  no  greater  contrast  could  have  been 
found  than  Joscelyn,  stretched  on  the  old  oak  settle  with 
his  books  and  his  pamphlets  round  him,  bearing  on  his  face 
the  same  look  of  intent  preoccupation,  save  that  where  the 
child's  expression  was  calm  and  happy,  his  was  full  of  pain 
and  perplexity.  The  contrast  between  the  two  struck  John 
Hampden  as  he  was  shown  into  the  room.  Sir  Robert  had 
told  him  beforehand  of  his  invalid  guest,  and  of  the  di- 
lemma in  which  he  was  placed,  and  since  Joscelyn  was  ab- 
sorbed in  what  he  was  reading  the  searching  yet  deeply 
sympathetic  gaze  of  the  new-comer  had  rested  on  him  for 
some  moments  before  he  was  roused  by  a  movement  from 
little  Monnie,  who  sprang  up  from  her  stool  to  curtsey  to 
her  grandfather  and  the  visitor. 

"  One  hour's  talk  with  Mr.  Hampden  will  do  more  for 
you  than  many  months'  study  of  those,"  Clemency  had  re- 
marked to  him,  and  the  words  came  back  to  his  mind  as  he 
looked  up  into  the  stranger's  face  from  the  dry,  dreary 
arguments  through  which  he  had  been  toiling. 

He  saw  a  powerfully  built  man  of  about  eight-and-forty, 
with  an  abundance  of  crisp  wavy  hair  falling  almost  to  his 


48 

shoulders,  but  brushed  away  from  the  forehead,  so  that  it 
did  not  conceal  the  height  and  breadth  of  a  very  striking 
brow.  The  features  were  good,  the  upper  lip  very  short, 
the  mouth  firm  but  sweet-looking,  the  jaw  square  and  mas- 
sive, the  eyes  singularly  thoughtful. 

Sir  Robert  introduced  Joscelyn,  and  after  making  kindly 
inquiries  as  to  the  invalid,  Hampden  sat  down  and  took 
little  Monnie  on  his  knee. 

"  And  what  is  Mistress  Monnie  making  so  happily  ?"  he 
asked,  stroking  the  child's  bright  curls. 

"  Chains,  sir,"  said  Monnie,  holding  up  in  triumph  a  long 
string  of  linked  daisies. 

"  Chains,  Monnie  ?"  he  said,  smiling.  "  Why,  England  has 
too  many  already !" 

"  Then  it  shall  be  a  crown  for  you,  sir,"  she  answered, 
twisting  the  two  ends  together,  and  with  the  loving  confi- 
dence of  a  child  stretching  up  her  chubby  little  hands  that 
she  might  crown  the  "greatest  man  in  England." 

Running  to  a  little  distance  to  see  the  effect  of  her  work, 
she  seemed  not  wholly  satisfied  with  the  result.  Hampden 
laughed  at  the  seriousness  of  the  little  face. 

" 'Tis  not  great  enough  for  you,  sir,"  she  said;  "I  will 
put  more  daisies." 

"  Nay,"  said  Hampden,  stooping  to  kiss  her  as  she  took 
off  the  wreath,  "  keep  it  as  it  is,  and  crown  the  bride.  See, 
here  she  comes."  And  he  rose  to  greet  Faith  and  her 
future  husband,  Mr.  Bennett,  of  Gloucester,  a  somewhat 
austere-looking  Puritan  of  five-and-thirty,  whose  extreme 
gravity  contrasted  curiously  with  Faith's  sunny  brightness. 
Joscelyn  wondered  that  his  choice  had  not  fallen  upon  the 
much  more  serious  Clemency,  and  could  only  hope  that 
Faith  had  enough  cheerfulness  for  the  two,  and  that  she 
would  not  be  overpowered  by  her  sombre  bridegroom. 
However,  even  quiet  Christopher  Bennett  could  not  resist 


"  'THEN    KISS    ME,   MOTHER,'   HE    SAID.       'FOR 

THIS   IS   OUR   LAST    MEETING.'" 

[Page  80. 


49 

the  magic  of  Hampden's  genial  presence ;  before  long  he 
was  actually  laughing  at  the  description  of  a  rustic  wedding 
in  Buckinghamshire,  where  a  countryman  having  been  ad- 
dressed by  the  minister  in  the  usual  form,  "  Wilt  thou  have 
this  woman,"  etc.,  had  replied,  to  the  great  consternation  of 
all  present,  "  Well,  sir,  now  you  put  it  so  solemnlike  I  don't 
reckon  I  will,"  and  there  and  then  walked  out  of  the  church. 

When  the  laughter  which  greeted  this  tale  had  died  away, 
Hampden  produced  his  wedding  gift,  two  beautifully  chased 
silver  flagons,  and  by  the  time  these  had  been  admired  by 
all  present  supper  was  announced,  and  Joscelyn,  who  was 
not  allowed  to  adjourn  to  the  entrance-hall,  where  meals 
were  served,  found  himself  left  to  his  own  thoughts.  Every 
now  and  then,  when  the  servant  came  in  bearing  him  food 
or  wine,  he  could  hear  through  the  open  door  the  merry 
talk  at  the  supper- table,  and  the  mellow  voice  and  hearty 
laugh  of  Hampden,  which  made  him  long  to  be  at  table 
with  them  all.  But  by-and-by  his  turn  came,  for  when  the 
rest  of  the  party  had  gone  to  the  withdrawing-room  to  dis- 
cuss certain  matters  connected  with  the  marriage,  Hamp- 
den returned  to  the  library.  He  glanced  from  the  invalid 
to  the  books  and  pamphlets  surrounding  him,  and  smiled  a 
little. 

"  Sir  Robert  keeps  you  well  supplied  with  literature,"  he 
remarked. 

"  Tis  of  a  kind  that  is  hard  of  digestion,  sir,"  said  Josce- 
lyn: "  I  have  been  struggling  to-day  with  Lord  Brooke's 
treatise  on  Episcopacy." 

"  Beware  how  you  abuse  him,  for  he  is  my  very  good 
friend,"  said  Hampden,  unable  to  help  laughing  at  the  young 
man's  expression.  "  Yet  I  grant  you  the  book  is  not  easy 
reading,  specially  the  first  part.  Nevertheless,  it  contains 
the  true  solution  of  our  chiefest  difficulty,  and  would  to  God 
that  the  people  of  England  were  fit  to  grasp  the  notion  !" 

4 


5Q 

"The  notion  of  granting  liberty  to  the  sects?"  asked 
Joscelyn. 

"  Yes ;  of  toleration,  of  entire  religious  freedom,"  said 
Hampden.  "But  the  spirit  of  retaliation  is  abroad,  and 
for  the  tyranny  of  the  bishops  men  will  strive  to  substitute 
the  tyranny  of  a  presbytery.  Brooke  has  here  set  forth  the 
only  true  remedy,  the  only  lasting  way  of  peace,  the  right 
of  every  individual  to  liberty  of  conscience,  the  utter  folly 
of  trying  to  force  all  into  one  groove." 

"  Do  you  speak,  sir,  as  a  Puritan  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  I  speak  as  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England,  yet  as 
a  member  who  would  fain  see  the  abuses  of  the  Church  re- 
formed, who  would  have  the  bishops  caring  for  the  souls  of 
their  people,  not  interfering  with  matters  of  State.  Person- 
ally attached  to  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  yet  I  am 
averse  to  thrusting  it  on  those  who  prefer  a  simpler  worship ; 
the  nation  is  not  at  one  on  religious  matters,  and  there 
never  can  be  peace  until  there  is  perfect  liberty.  Yet,  mind 
you,  Lord  Brooke  is  far  in  advance  of  his  times.  Only 
through  blood  and  tears  will  the  bulk  of  the  people  come  to 
see  this  truth  he  now  sets  forth.  Could  they  but  see  it  now, 
the  coming  war  would  lose  half  its  horrors." 

"  You  mean  that  there  would  be  less  bitter  division  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  few  Englishmen  would  join  the  King  only  to 
uphold  his  despotic  rule,  but  many,  seeing  the  existence  of 
the  Church  imperilled,  will  join  the  royal  army — aye,  many 
of  our  best  and  noblest."  He  sighed  heavily. 

"  And  you  will  fight  them,  sir  ?"  cried  Joscelyn.  "  You 
will  do  all  that  may  be  done  to  kill  these  men  whom  you 
own  to  be  partly  in  the  right  ?  You  will  help  on  what  may 
bring  the  destruction  of  the  Church  of  which  you  are  a 
member?  Will  help  to  set  up  another,  perhaps  a  greater 
and  more  distastefill  tyranny  ?" 

"  You  are  right  to  face  these  questions,"  said  Hampden, 


quietly.  "  Believe  me,  I  have  faced  them  for  many  a  year ; 
have  tried,  as  so  many  others  have  tried,  all  that  patience 
and  moderation  and  waiting  and  slow  reform  can  do.  But 
the  time  is  now  come  to  draw  the  sword  and  throw  away 
the  scabbard.  England  must  be  saved.  The  just  liberties 
of  the  nation  must  be  preserved ,  not  only  preserved,  but 
enlarged — for  where  there  is  no  growth  there  is  no  life. 
The  King  and  those  who  join  him  will  drag  the  nation 
back,  will  reduce  it  to  the  slavery  of  the  other  nations  of 
Europe.  Will  you  give  your  life  for  such  work  as  that  ? 
Nay,  throw  in  your  lot  with  those  whose  watchword  is  '  For- 
ward ';  come  and  help  on  the  march  of  freedom,  and  thank 
God  on  your  knees  that  He  allows  you  to  suffer  in  such  a 
cause." 

"  If  only  matters  were  less  strangely  mixed,"  said  Jos- 
celyn,  his  face  full  of  weary  perplexity.  "  If  only  all  that 
one  cared  for  and  reverenced  were  on  the  one  side,  and  all 
that  one  would  fain  abolish  on  the  other !" 

"  Since  the  world  began  that  has  never  been  the  case," 
said  Hampden.  "Wheat  and  tares  grow  together  among 
both  Royalists  and  Parliamentarians.  If  you  wait  for  a 
perfect  set  of  workers  you  may  wait  forever.  Your  duty  is 
to  look  which  side  most  truly  promotes  the  progress  and 
healthy  growth  of  the  national  good.  Its  ways  may  not  be 
your  personal  ways,  its  blunders  may  cut  you  to  the  heart, 
yet  still  through  all  you  will  be  able  to  discern  that,  spite  of 
many  imperfections,  it  is  pressing  on  to  better  things." 

"At  any  rate,"  exclaimed  Joscelyn,  "by  the  refusal  of 
Hotham  to  allow  the  King  and  his  soldiers  to  enter  Hull 
the  hostilities  seem  to  have  been  begun  by  your  side." 

"Nay,"  said  Hampden,  "but  what  is  the  true  state  of 
the  case  ?  Before  Hotham  came  on  the  scene  at  all  the 
King  had  already  appointed  the  Earl  of  Newcastle  gov- 
ernor, and  had  plotted  to  introduce  into  Hull  the  Danish 


52 

troops,  which  he  had  once  thought  to  employ  in  Scotland 
during  the  bishops'  war.  'Twas  not  until  this  plot  was  re- 
vealed to  Pym  that  Sir  John  Hotham  was  ordered  to  secure 
Hull,  and  not  to  yield  it  until  summoned  to  do  so  by  the 
King's  authority,  signified  unto  him  by  the  Lords  and  Com- 
mons." 

And  then  with  impassioned  earnestness,  which  yet  never 
descended  into  bitter  invective,  Hampden  began  to  speak 
of  what  had  passed  in  the  country  since  the  King's  acces- 
sion. He  described  to  Joscelyn  the  foreign  policy  of  the 
Government  and  its  disastrous  results;  spoke  of  the  cruel 
way  in  which  ship-owners  and  mariners  pressed  into  the 
King's  service  had  been  treated ;  enlarged  on  the  miseries 
which  must'  always  follow  when  a  king  plunges  into  foreign 
wars  against  the  will  of  the  nation ;  showed  how  Charles 
had  again  and  again  broken  the  law,  and  how  the  country 
was  reduced  to  its  present  state  of  misery  and  oppression 
at  home,  and  utter  friendlessness  abroad,  through  the  King's 
incapacity.  » 

With  the  graphic  language  of  one  who  had  been  an  act- 
ual participator  in  the  struggle  he  told  the  story  of  the  third 
Parliament,  of  the  Petition  of  Right  and  its  apparent  fail- 
ure, of  the  pathos  of  a  Parliament  broken-hearted  and  in 
tears  at  the  desperate  condition  of  the  country,  of  the  con- 
sent to  the  Petition  at  last  wrung  from  the  King  and  of  the 
joy  throughout  England,  how  bells  had  pealed  and  bonfires 
burned,  and  how  they  had  all  tried  with  a  last  effort  of 
loyalty  to  believe  that  the  King  was  free  from  blame,  and 
that  the  disasters  of  the  past  came  from  Buckingham's  evil 
counsel. 

Then  he  told  how  after  Buckingham's  'death,  and  in  spite 
of  the  King's  promise,  illegal  taxes  were  yet  continued,  and 
how  judges,  solely  dependent  on  the  Crown,  had  profaned 
justice.  With  tears  in  his  eyes  he  told  of  Eliot's  imprison- 


53 

ment  and  death  ;  he  showed  how  the  bishops,  neglecting 
their  true  work,  had,  to  the  undoing  of  the  country,  med- 
dled with  the  government  of  the  State,  even  proving  the 
principal  promoters  of  the  war  with  Scotland ;  how  the  un- 
conquerable spirit  of  the  nation  struggled  desperately  for  its 
just  liberties ;  and  how  at  last  they  had  come  to  see  that 
with  a  King  who  believed  himself  to  be  above  law — a  King 
whose  rule  had  reduced  England  to  such  a  desperate  condi- 
tion— a  King  who  clung  to  the  notion  of  sovereign  power  of 
the  monarch  and  passive  obedience  of  the  subject,  there 
never  could  be  anything  but  oppression  and  ruin.  He  ar- 
gued that  for  those  who  loved  their  country  the  question 
now  was,  Would  they  leave  her  to  the  unregulated  rule  of 
one  who  had  trampled  her  honor  in  the  dust  ?  or  would 
they  fight  for  the  supremacy  of  Parliament,  aiming  a  dead- 
ly blow  at  that  authority  which  the  King  had  so  fatally 
abused,  and  making  it  forever  impossible  for  England  to 
be  at  the  mercy  of  one  incompetent  and  irresponsible 
ruler  ? 

When  he  paused  there  was  for  some  minutes  perfect  si- 
lence in  the  room ;  then,  irresistibly  drawn  to  this  wonder- 
ful man,  Joscelyn  began  to  urge  his  objections,  to  raise 
difficulties,  and  Hampden,  with  the  most  winning  gentle- 
ness and  patience,  fully  entered  into  and  met  every  one  of 
them. 

With  marvellous  tact,  with  the  rare  modesty  which  spe- 
cially characterized  him,  he  listened,  now  and  then  sug- 
gesting a  question,  hinting  a  doubt,  throwing  in  a  phrase 
which  seemed  to  flood  his  companion's  mind  with  new 
light.  He  was  full,  moreover,  of  sympathy  for  Joscelyn's 
difficult  position,  but  it  was  a  strong  sympathy  which  nerved 
to  endurance  and  made  inaction  seem  impossible. 

After  a  time  the  door  was  opened,  and  Clemency  stole 
softly  in,  glancing  a  little  nervously  at  Joscelyn. 


54 

"  I  came  to  see  if  you  would  like  lights,"  she  said,  "  but 
do  not  let  me  disturb  your  talk."  , 

"  Nay,  our  talk  is  ended,"  said  Hampden,  rising  to  meet 
her,  "  and  we  want  one  of  your  songs,  Clemency,  to  raise  us 
out  of  sad  thoughts." 

"  I  will  gladly  sing,"  said  she ;  "  but  first,  sir,  for  fear  I 
have  no  other  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you  quietly,  will 
you  give  me  your  help  and  advice  as  to  these  diamonds." 

She  opened  a  case  of  red  leather,  and  even  in  the  fading 
evening  light  Joscelyn  could  see  how  the  beautiful  necklace 
within  flashed  and  sparkled. 

Hampden  took  the  case  in  his  hand,  looking  at  the  dia- 
monds with  admiration. 

"  My  advice,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  is  to  wear  them  ;  and  my 
help — "  he  took  the  necklace  up  and  fastened  it  round  her 
neck. 

Clemency  laughed  and  blushed. 

"  They  were  my  mother's,"  she  said,  "  and  now  they  are 
mine  to  do  what  I  like  with.  When  I  heard  how  people 
were  sending  money  and  plate  to  the  Guildhall  to  help  in 
defending  the  country,  how  the  poor  women  were  even 
bringing  their  wedding-rings,  then  I  thought  of  these  dia- 
monds, and  my  grandfather  says  I  may  send  them  if  I  wish. 
Would  you  take  them  back  with  you  to-morrow  ?" 

"  But  I  think  it  will  be  hard  for  you  to  part  with  what  was 
once  your  mother's.  The  thing  is  most  beautiful,  too,  and 
of  such  great  value,"  he  glanced  inquiringly  into  the  lovely 
girlish  face. 

"  It  is  because  I  do  care  for  it  very  much  that  I  want  to 
send  it,"  she  said,  her  voice  faltering  a  little.  "  I  want  to 
help,  and  there  is  but  little  I  can  do  ;  men  can  give  their 
lives  for  the  country,  but  women  can  only  stay  at  home  and 
grieve." 

"  Nay,  you  will  do  something  better  than  that  if  I  mistake 


55 

not,"  said  Hampden,  gently.  "  You  will  pray  ;  you  will 
bring  up  the  children  intrusted  to  you  to  love  truth  and  jus- 
tice and  freedom  ;  you  will,  perhaps  unknown  to  yourself, 
influence  some  of  the  men  who  go  forth  now  to  fight.  As 
to  the  diamonds,  I  will  take  them  to  the  Guildhall  if  you 
indeed  wish  it." 

"  I  do,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  My  grandfather  says  they 
are  worth  much  money  because  they  are  cut  in  the  new 
Dutch  fashion  with  many  facets." 

She  made  as  though  she  would  unclasp  the  necklace  and 
give  it  to  him  there  and  then,  but  Hampden  checked  her. 

"Wear  it  to-night,  and  to-morrow  at  the  wedding,"  he 
said.  "  Let  it  once  more  fulfil  its  natural  function  before 
it  is  converted  into  the  defences  of  the  country." 

And  then  before  long  they  were  all  laughing  at  an  elab- 
orate calculation  made  by  Hampden  as  to  the  number  of 
soldiers  who  might  be  comfortably  shod  if  the  diamonds 
were  converted  into  boots,  or  the  number  that  might  be  fed 
if  they  were  converted  into  loaves.  A  servant  at  this  mo- 
ment brought  in  two  candles  in  massive  silver  candlesticks, 
but  Clemency  would  not  have  the  shutters  closed. 

"The  night  is  calm,"  she  said.  "See,  the  red  of  the 
sunset  still  lingers ,  it  will  surely  be  fair  weather  to- 
morrow." 

A  silence  fell  upon  them ;  Hampden  stood  by  the  open 
window  looking  out  into  the  peaceful  stillness  of  the  summer 
evening;  his  face,  bright  with  humor  only  a  few  minutes 
before,  was  now  full  of  ineffable  sadness,  yet  beneath  the 
sadness  one  could  read  an  unconquerable  hope.  He  was  a 
man  whose  heart  had  been  wrung  by  private  sorrows,  and 
now  the  thought  of  the  coming  war  which  must  bring  deso- 
lation to  so  many  homes  had  been  brought  to  him  very 
vividly  and  freshly,  first  by  his  talk  with  Joscelyn  Heyworth 
and  the  realization  of  his  difficult  position,  and  then  again 


56 

by  Clemency  and  her  offering  of  the  diamonds.  He  who 
felt  so  powerfully  the  necessity  of  drawing  the  sword  and 
flinging  away  the  scabbard  was  yet  a  man  of  the  gentlest 
tastes,  a  man  of  the  tenderest  heart,  and  he  suffered  as  only 
the  strong  can  suffer. 

Joscelyn  watched  him  with  a  sort  of  fascination ;  he  knew 
that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a 
leader  of  men ;  every  word,  every  gesture,  every  look  of 
Hampden's  seemed  to  him  invested  with  an  extraordinary 
power  and  influence.  From  the  fine  old  beech-tree  on  the 
lawn  a  thrush  flooded  the  twilight  with  exquisite  song. 
Within,  Clemency  silently  arranged  some  red  and  white 
roses  in  a  china  bowl,  her  diamonds  flashing  with  radiant 
light  at  each  breath  she  drew.  All  was  strangely  calm,  yet 
all  seemed  hushed  and  awed  by  the  coming  strife.  Pres- 
ently Hampden  recrossed  the  room. 

• "  You  promised  us  a  song,"  he  said ;  "  may  we  not  have 
it  when  your  roses  are  arranged  ?" 

She  handed  him  the  finest  rose  from  her  posy. 

"  Tis  not  often  that  this  striped  York  and  Lancaster  rose 
has  so  fine  a  blossom,"  she  said.  "  I  am  fond  of  them ; 
they  seem  full  of  sad  tales  with  happy  endings." 

He  fastened  the  flower  in  his  doublet. 

"  The  emblem  of  peace  after  strife,  of  union  after  divis- 
ion," he  said,  musingly.  "  How  many  of  us,  I  wonder,  will 
live  to  see  righteousness  and  peace  meeting  again  in  a  rec- 
onciled England  ?" 

Clemency  was  silent,  something  seemed  to  rise  in  her 
throat  and  choke  her.  She  turned  away,  and  passed  her 
fingers  lightly  over  the  strings  of  her  guitar. 

"  Do  you  sing  that  newly  composed  song  to  the  words  of 
George  Herbert,  *  Sweet  Day  '  ?"  asked  Hampden.  "  I  am 
told  it  begins  to  be  much  spoken  about.  'Tis  a  favorite  of 
mine." 


57 

"  Tis  also  a  favorite  of  my  grandfather's,"  said  Clem- 
ency; and  at  Hampden's  request  she  began  to  sing.  To 
Joscelyn  it  seemed  that  music  and  words  were  alike  fitted 
for  this  still  summer  evening  with  its  strange  underlying 
sadness. 

"  Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 

The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky, 
The  dews  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night, 
For  thou  must  die. 

"  Sweet  rose,  whose  hue  angry  and  brave 

Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye, 
Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave, 
And  thou  must  die. 

"  Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 

A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie, 
My  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes, 
And  all  must  die. 

"  Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul, 

Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives  ; 
But  though  the  whole  world  turns  to  coal, 
Then  chiefly  lives." 

Afterwards,  Joscelyn  and  Clemency  remembered  the  long- 
drawn  sigh  which  escaped  Hampden  as  the  last  soft  chords 
died  away  into  silence. 

The  next  day  pretty  Faith  Coriton  was  married  in  the  old 
church  of  Katterham,  and  Mr.  Bennett,  being  eager  to  reach 
Gloucester  as  soon  as  might  be,  carried  her  off  that  very 
afternoon  in  defiance  of  custom,  protesting  that  it  was  far 
better  to  make  the  first  stage  of  their  journey  as  early  as 
might  be,  since  there  was  no  saying  how  soon  hostilities 
might  begin,  and  the  roads  become  dangerous.  The  part- 
ing between  the  sisters  was  a  sad  one,  but  Clemency  did  not 
altogether  break  down  ;  she  only  went  about  looking  pale 
and  stunned,  and  with  the  strange  far-away  look  in  her  eyes 
that  Joscelyn  had  more  than  once  noticed. 


58- 

Hampden  did  not  long  outstay  the  bride  and  bridegroom. 
While  his  horse  was  being  saddled  he  waited  in  the  library 
with  little  Monnie  on  his  knee,  and  Prue,  Hal,  and  even 
shy  Hester  clustered  round  his  chair.  Genial  and  kindly 
and  full  of  rare  sympathy,  it  seemed  to  them  all,  when  he 
rose  to  go,  as  if  the  sunshine  were  going  out  of  the  house. 
Clemency's  tears,  bravely  kept  back  so  long,  rose  now.  He 
stooped  to  kiss  her. 

"  Farewell,  dear  child,"  he  said,  tenderly.  "  May  God 
bless  you.  I  will  not  forget  your  gift  to  the  country." 

Then,  turning  to  Joscelyn,  who  had  instinctively  risen  to 
his  feet,  though  under  orders  to  keep  his  knee  absolutely 
still,  he  grasped  his  hand  warmly,  looking  full  into  his  eyes 
with  kind,  earnest  inquiry. 

"  Farewell,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  yet  give 
up  the  hope  that  we  may  meet  again  and  fight  beneath  the 
same  banner.  If  ever  I  can  be  of  service  to  you,  let  me 
know." 

The  others  followed  him  out  to  the  door,  and  Joscelyn, 
with  a  sigh,  fell  back  again  on  his  couch. 

Should  he  meet  this  king  of  men  again,  he  wondered  ; 
and,  if  so,  would  it  be  as  friend  or  as  foe  ? 


CHAPTER  V 

A  man  has  as  much  right  to  use  his  own  understanding  in  judging 
of  truth  as  he  has  a  right  to  use  his  own  eyes  to  see  his  way. — WHICH- 
COTE. 

SHORTELL  PARK  had  now  for  nearly  three  weeks  been 
the  scene  of  daily  drilling.  By  slow  degrees  the  little  troop 
had  increased  in  numbers,  and  what  with  Dick's  persuasive- 
ness, the  zeal  of  good  old  Sir  Thomas,  who  had  returned 
from  Yorkshire,  the  threats  of  Jervis,  and  the  excitement 
and  novelty  of  receiving  instructions  from  a  grim  old  vet- 
eran who  had  served  in  more  than  one  foreign  war,  the  vil- 
lagers were  stirred  up  into  a  most  warlike  spirit,  and  con- 
tributed their  men  willingly  enough.  To  watch  the  drilling 
was  little  Rosamond  Hey  worth's  great  delight ;  and  one 
Friday  evening  she  might  have  been  seen  in  her  usual  nook 
under  the  ash-tree  near  the  park  gates  with  her  usual  com- 
panions— Cymro,  a  Welsh  collie  belonging  to  her  brothers, 
and  old  Barnaby,  the  gate-keeper. 

It  was  easy  to  tell  that  Rosamond  was  Joscelyn's  sister  ; 
the  two  were  curiously  alike,  and  in  spite  of  a  certain  fragile 
look  about  the  little  girl's  face,  it  was  quite  clear  that  though 
there  might  be  physical  weakness,  there  was  an  unusual 
force  of  character  and  a  vigorous  intelligence  in  this  twelve- 
year-old  maiden.  Rosamond  was  the  youngest  of  the  family 
by  several  years.  No  one  had  specially  welcomed  her  ad- 
vent; she  had  always  been  kept  sedulously  in  the  back- 
ground, and  from  a  very  early  age  she  had  learned  to  live 
her  own  life  to  herself  and  to  expect  little  from  outsiders. 
The  servants  snubbed  her,  the  chaplain  who  acted  as  tutor 


6o 

set  her  wofully  long  tasks,  her  mother  rarely  spoke  except 
to  chide,  and  her  father  was  so  wrapt  up  in  his  daughter 
Isabella  that  he  seemed  to  have  little  love  to  spare  for  this 
shy,  silent  child,  who  had  never  been  encouraged  to  show 
her  love  for  him,  and  would  not  have  dared  to  speak  unless 
spoken  to.  Favoritism  in  parents  has  worked  mischief  ever 
since  the  days  of  Jacob  ;  and  Sir  Thomas,  though  he  little 
thought  it,  had  wrought  no  small  harm  by  his  blind  devotion 
to  Isabella.  The  elder  daughter  ruled  the  whole  house ; 
her  every  wish  was  gratified,  and  she  was  so  completely 
spoiled  by  the  process  that  her  punishment  was  already  be- 
ginning to  affect  her  and  to  render  her  peevish  and  discon- 
tented. To  the  outside  world  her  faults  were  only  too 
apparent ;  she  was  far  from  popular ;  and  this  to  one  of  her 
exigeant  nature  was  a  never-ceasing  annoyance. 

Sir  Thomas  was  responsible,  too,  for  Rosamond's  shy 
reserve,  and  for  many  a  heartache  never  confessed  save  to 
Cymro,  her  safe  confidant.  For  Rosamond  knew  that  she 
loved  her  father  and  mother  quite  as  well  as  Isabella  did, 
and  though  she  accepted  her  lot  in  life  quietly,  nothing 
could  make  her  see  the  justice  of  the  way  in  which  she  was 
treated. 

"  For  you  see,  Cymro,"  she  would  say,  burying  her  hot 
face  in  the  dog's  soft  neck  and  hugging  him  closely,  "  when 
Isabella  is  ill — even  a  very  little  ill — the  whole  household 
is  all  in  a  stir,  and  she  is  cockered  up  with  all  the  comforts 
you  can  think  of,  and  perhaps  taken  away  to  Tunbridge  or 
Epsom,  which  must  alone  be  enough  to  cure  folks  just  with 
the  happiness  of  the  journey.;  but  if  I  am  ill  they  do  but 
blame  me  and  bid  me  not  to  complain,  or,  if  past  that,  they 
leave  me  to  lie  in  bed  all  day  alone,  and  give  me  vile 
draughts  by  way  of  cure,  and  will  not  even  let  me  have  you 
up-stairs." 

Then  Cymro  would  lick  the  hot  little  face  with  his  soft 


"STOLE  NOISELESSLY  UP  TO  ONE  OF  THE  WINDOWS." 


[Page  85. 


6i 


comforting  tongue,  and  the  child  would  lavish  on  the  dog 
the  ardent,  clinging  love  which  nature  had  intended  to  be 
bestowed  on  the  parents. 

But  fortunately  there  came  intervals  when  life  was  much 
brighter  for  Rosamond.  The  boys  came  home  from  school 
or  college  ever)''  now  and  then,  and  with  Joscelyn  and  Dick 
the  little  sister  was  on  the  happiest  terms  ;  she  loved  them 
both  dearly,  but  her  love  for  Joscelyn  almost  amounted  to 
worship.  He  had  always  been  kind  to  her — tender  where 
others  were  rough,  and,  above  all,  just  where  others  were 
unjust.  Moreover,  Joscelyn  was  her  mediator ,  though  he 
himself  was  one  of  the  despised  youngers  of  the  family,  yet 
there  was  something  -about  him  —  an  undefined  charm  of 
manner,  or  perhaps  a  latent  strength  of  will  —  which  gave 
him,  in  spite  of  his  birth,  a  position  of  his  own  in  the 
household.  He  could  hardly  fail  to  be  popular,  and  he  was 
often  able  to  win  slight  concessions  from  the  authorities 
for  poor  little  Rosamond,  who  envied  his  fearless  courage, 
and  looked  up  to  him  with  boundless  admiration.  The 
only  other  person  who  was  really  fond  of  her  was  old  Bar- 
naby,  the  gate-keeper ;  he  was  her  great  ally,  and  on  this 
August  evening  the  two  were,  as  usual,  talking  away  very 
comfortably  to  each  other. 

"  Barnaby,"  said  the  child,  looking  up  into  the  broad, 
honest  face  of  the  gate -keeper,  with  its  ruddy,  weather- 
beaten  skin  and  bushy,  grizzled  hair  —  "  Barnaby,  I  wish 
they  would  go  on  drilling  for  ever  and  ever.  I  like  very 
much  to  watch  them  here,  but  it  will  be  terrible  when  they 
have  gone  off  to  the  war;  it  will  be  horrible,  Barnaby." 

Barnaby  cleared  his  throat  and  began  to  sing  in  a  quaver- 
ing old  voice  a  rhyme  which  he  much  affected — 

"  There  was  an  army  went  into  Spain, 
When  it  got  there  it  came  back  again." 


62 


Rosamond  laughed ;  she  knew  that  the  song  was  a 
satire  on  the  unlucky  Spanish  expedition  which  had  so 
greatly  enraged  the  English  against  the  late  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham. 

"  Do  you  think,  Barnaby,  that  it  will  be  like  that  with 
this  army  ?  Do  you  think,  perhaps,  after  all,  there  will  be 
no  fighting  ?" 

"  Maybe,  maybe  not,"  said  Barnaby.  "  Nobody  can  say 
beforehand.  But  it's  my  belief  that  this  here  dispute  will 
devilup  into  the  biggest  war  England  has  ever  seen." 

Rosamond,  who  never  could  resist  a  smile  at  Barnaby's 
pronunciation  of  the  word  "  develop,"  turned  aside  and  be- 
gan to  gather  the  buttercups  within  her  reach. 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  wish,  Barnaby,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause.  "  I  do  wish  women  could  go  to  the  war  and  men 
stay  behind." 

"  Mercy  on  us  !"  cried  Barnaby,  shaking  his  head.  "  Why, 
mistress,  that  is  a  strange  wish!  How  should  the  likes  of 
you  go  out  killing  and  being  killed  ?" 

"  I  am  only  a  child  and  should  stay  at  home,"  said  Rosa- 
mond decidedly,  "  but  I  would  much  rather  that  my  father 
and  the  boys  stayed  at  home,  and  that  my  mother  and  my 
sister  and  cross  old  nurse  and  the  rest  of  the  maids  went 
away." 

Barnaby's  broad  shoulders  shook,  and  he  laughed  quietly 
as  he  protested  that  it  would  never  do.  But  Rosamond,  as 
she  watched  the  villagers  being  drilled,  went  on  carrying 
out  her  plan  in  her  own  mind.  *• 

"  Men  are  always  nicer  than  women,"  she  reflected.  "  It 
will  be  very  dreary  at  home  without  the  boys,  but  without 
Isabella  it  would  be  delightful"  She  clinched  her  hands 
at  the  thought,  for  though  to  all  outward  appearance  the 
most  gentle  and  submissive  of  children,  within  she  was 
often  enough  like  a  little  volcano,  and  Isabella's  real  un- 


63 

kindness  and  injustice  had  stirred  up  a  smouldering  jealousy 
into  active  hatred.  She  was  startled  back  to  the  present  by 
a  sudden  movement  on  the  part  of  Cymro,  who  bounded 
towards  the  gate  with  curious  little  whines  of  gladness. 
Rosamond  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Tis  Joscelyn !"  she  cried,  running  at  full  speed  across 
the  grass  and  flinging  open  the  gate  long  before  old  Bar- 
naby  could  reach  it.  Joscelyn  dismounted  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  little  flying  figure ;  his  face,  which  had 
been  strangely  grave,  brightened  into  a  smile  as  the  child 
gave  him  a  rapturous  greeting. 

"  Well,  Fair  Rosamond,"  he  said,  stroking  her  golden 
curls,  "  as  usual,  you  are  the  first  to  welcome  me.  How  are 
you,  Barnaby?  What,  drilling  going  on  in  the  park?  Is 
Dick  there  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Rosamond,  clinging  to  his  arm,  "  they  are  all 
at  supper,  and  there  are  guests.  They  were  playing  bowls 
till  late,  but  now  they  are  gone  into  the  house.  Isabella 
said  I  was  not  to  be  seen  because  my  gown  is  shabby. 
But  you  " — with  a  sigh — "  you  are  hungry,  doubtless,  and 
will  go  in  to  them." 

"  No,  I  will  stay  with  you,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Have  my 
father  and  Jervis  returned  ?" 

He  sighed  as  she  replied  in  the  affirmative.  They  began 
to  walk  slowly  up  the  carriage-drive,  and  Joscelyn  glanced 
from  the  men  at  drill  to  the  familiar  red-brick  manor  with 
its  clustering  ivy,  its  comfortable  homelike  look.  Rosamond 
was  startled  by  the  sorrowful  gravity  of  his  face.  She  be- 
gan to  feel  uneasy. 

"  Oh,  Joscelyn,"  she  said,  "  how  I  do  wish  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  war !  Why  must  you  fight  against  the  Par- 
liament ?  Why  must  you  ?" 

"  I  cannot  fight  against  the  Parliament,"  he  said,  gravely. 

Rosamond's  brain  seemed  to  reel. 


64 

"  You  mean,"  she  gasped — "  you  mean  that — " 

He  finished  the  sentence  for  her. 

"  That  in  these  three  weeks  I  have  come  to  see  things  as 
I  never  saw  them  before,  and  it  is  no  longer  possible  for  me 
to  fight  on  the  side  my  father  has  chosen." 

Rosamond  was  silent,  because  she  saw  one  of  the  grooms 
approaching  them ;  but  when  he  had  led  away  the  horse  she 
spoke  in  a  low,  almost  terrified  voice. 

"  You  will  take  the  opposite  side  to  our  father  ?"  she 
cried.  "  You  will  fight  against  the  King  ?  Oh,  Joscelyn — 
why?" 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  terraced  garden  ;  he 
led  her  down  one  of  the  sheltered  paths  into  a  little  arbor 
at  the  far  end. 

"  'Tis  not  against  the  King  as  king  that  I  would  fight, 
but  against  his  tyranny,  against  a  despotism  that  must  bring 
ruin  upon  England,"  he  said,  gravely.  "Till  October,  how- 
ever, I  am  not  of  age,  and  if  my  father  wills  it  I  can  go  out 
of  the  country  until  peace  is  restored.  Do  you  think  I  will- 
ingly differ  from  him  and  from  Dick  ?" 

The  terrible  pain  in  his  face  cut  her  to  the  heart.  She 
threw  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  I  know  you  will  do  what  is  right,"  she  said,  vehe- 
mently. 

Her  childlike  trust  seemed  to  comfort  him.  He  began 
to  tell  her  the  details  of  his  stay  at  Katterham  Court,  of 
Hampden's  visit,  and  of  his  gradual  change  of  views,  or 
rather  of  his  first  dawning  of  any  sort  of  political  knowl- 
edge ;  and  Rosamond,  spite  of  her  youth,  was  able  to  un- 
derstand to  a  great  extent  the  position  he  had  taken  up, 
though  her  thoughts  would  turn  back,  in  spite  of  her  patri- 
otic efforts,  to  the  perception  of  the  grievous  way  in  which 
Joscelyn's  views  must  affect  their  home  life. 

"Tell  Dick,  as  you  have  told  me,  alone,"  she  pleaded. 


65 

"  Tell  him  before  you  tell  the  others,  for  he  will  grieve  over 
it  more  because  he  so  greatly  loves  and  admires  the  King." 

Joscelyn  sighed  heavily.  There  was  a  silence ;  only  the 
splashing  of  a  fountain  on  the  lawn  close  by  broke  the  still- 
ness. Presently  Rosamond  gave  a  start  of  fear. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  Hush  !"  she  whispered.  "  I  am  sure  I  hear  voices.  Yes. 
Hark  !  it  is  Isabella  and  Sir  Toby  Blount.  Oh,  where  shall 
I  go  ?  She  will  be  so  angry  if  this  shabby  gown  is  seen." 

"  I  will  go  to  meet  them  and  inveigle  them  into  the  other 
path,"  said  Joscelyn,  getting  up.  "  Then  when  we  are  out 
of  hearing  you  can  escape  unseen." 

Rosamond,  still  trembling,  yet  with  a  happy  conscious- 
ness that  with  Joscelyn  as  helper  no  harm  could  come  to 
her,  peeped  out  cautiously  through  the  leafy  bower  to  see 
the  meeting.  Isabella,  in  her  white  satin  gown,  was  glanc- 
ing up  coquettishly  at  little  Sir  Toby,  with  his  faultless 
features  and  his  eager  eyes  and  his  scented  lovelocks. 
Rosamond  wondered  what  she  could  see  to  like  in  him, 
and  contrasted  him  in  her  mind  with  her  father's  fine,  manly 
figure,  with  Dick's  frank,  boyish  looks,  and  with  Joscelyn's 
goodly  presence  and  noble  face.  The  lovers  both  started 
at  the  sudden  apparition  that  blocked  their  way ;  but  Isa- 
bella, though  excessively  annoyed  at  the  interruption,  was 
obliged  to  smile  sweetly  and  give  her  brother  a  sisterly 
greeting,  with  many  inquiries  after  his  injured  knee.  And 
after  a  little  manoeuvring,  all  the  time  talking  with  the  ut- 
most cheerfulness,  and  explaining  how  he  had  been  told  on 
his  arrival  that  they  were  at  supper,  Joscelyn  contrived  to 
lead  them  away  from  the  arbor,  not  leaving  them  until  Ros- 
amond had  had  ample  time  to  escape. 

Then  he  made  his  way  to  the  house,  and  with  a  very  sore 
heart  received  his  father's  delighted  welcome;  but  fortu- 
nately the  guests  occupied  Sir  Thomas  a  good  deal,  and 
5 


66 


when  later  on  Joscelyn,  having  supped  and  changed  his 
clothes,  made  his  way  into  the  withdrawing-room,  he  found 
every  one  playing  cards,  and  was  glad  enough  to  take  a 
hand  and  forget  for  a  while  the  cloud  that  hung  over  him. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well,"  said  his  mother,  glancing  at 
him  across  the  card-table. 

"  Tis  doubtless  the  effect  of  three  weeks  within-doors," 
said  Joscelyn. 

"  Then  Dick  will  soon  effect  your  cure,"  said  Lady  Hey- 
worth,  laughing.  "  He  will  have  you  out  at  drill  from  morn- 
ing to  night,  I  warrant  you." 

Joscelyn's  color  rose  a  little  ;  he  changed  the  subject 
abruptly.  "  Is  it  Sir  John's  deal  or  mine  ?"  he  asked.  The 
question  recalled  Lady  Heyworth  to  the  game,  and  the  even- 
ing passed  without  any  further  contretemps. 

It  was  not  until  the  guests  rose  to  go  that  Joscelyn  was 
once  more  conscious  of  a  terrible  sense  of  loneliness  and 
separation,  for  Sir  John  Winton  made  some  allusion  to  the 
war,  and  the  others  caught  it  up,  so  that  for  a  few  minutes 
the  whole  room  seemed  full  of  that  all-absorbing  subject. 
He  stood  listening  in  silence,  then,  unable  to  endure  his  iso- 
lation, left  the  room  on  the  pretext  of  seeing  whether  the 
coaches  had  come  up  to  the  door.  When  at  length  the  last 
of  the  guests  had  gone,  he  realized  that,  after  all,  they  had 
been  a  protection,  that  they  had  at  least  helped  to  defer  the 
evil  day,  and  that  the  time  had  now  come  when  he  must  tell 
Dick.  The  only  comfort  was  that  from  Jervis's  sharp  eyes 
and  tongue  he  had  nothing  to  fear,  since  the  heir  to  Shor- 
tell  Manor  lay  drunk  on  the  floor  of  the  dining-room.  Sir 
Thomas,  with  a  sigh  and  a  shrug  of  his  broad  shoulders, 
gave  orders  that  he  should  be  carried  to  his  room,  and  then, 
turning  to  Joscelyn  with  the  air  of  perfect  confidence  and 
affection  that  had  wrung  his  son's  heart  at  Lincoln,  bade 
him  a  kindly  good-night. 


6? 

"'Tis  the  greatest  relief  to  me  to  have  you  at  home  once 
more,"  he  said.  "  I  have  sorely  needed  you.  Good-night, 
my  lad ;  to-morrow  there  are  many  matters  I  must  discuss 
with  you." 

Joscelyn  went  up  the  broad  staircase  with  dim  eyes,  and, 
to  Dick's  unbounded  astonishment,  had  no  sooner  reached 
their  bedroom  than  he  broke  down  altogether,  and  sobbed 
like  a  child.  With  his  own  pain  he  had  been  face  to  face 
for  the  last  week,  but  the  pain  he  was  about  to  give  to  oth- 
ers had  only  been  faintly  imagined.  Now  he  knew  what  lay 
before  him. 


CHAPTER   VI 

Those  whom  God  will  single  out  for  the  greatest  trials,  He  will  fit 
aforehand  with  the  best  enablements. 

— RALPH  BROWNING,  1592-1659. 

ROSAMOND  slept  little  that  night.  "  The  boys,"  as  they 
were  still  called,  had  always  occupied  the  room  next  to  hers, 
and  with  feverish  anxiety  she  heard  them  talking  on  and  on 
for  hours  when  all  the  rest  of  the  household  slept.  At  first 
they  seemed  to  be  arguing  with  some  heat,  but  soon  the 
voices  grew  quieter,  the  sentences  longer,  the  tone,  she  fan- 
cied, sadder.  When  the  family  all  met  together  the  next 
morning,  Rosamond  looked  anxiously  towards  her  brothers. 
They  seemed  on  perfectly  good  terms  with  each  other,  but 
still  there  was  no  mistaking  the  trouble  in  both  faces,  or  the 
endeavors  that  each  made  to  keep  the  conversation  in  safe 
channels.  Joscelyn  had  planned  to  ask  for  an  interview 
with  his  father  when  breakfast  was  over,  and  then,  alone 
and  free  from  interruption,  to  tell  him  the  whole  truth. 
Dick  had  promised  to  keep  Jervis  out  of  the  way,  and  they 
had  intended  to  give  Rosamond  a  hint  to  occupy  her  moth- 
er's attention^  if  possible,  for  as  long  as  might  be.  But  the 
best-arranged  plans  are  often  frustrated,  and,  unluckily,  Jer- 
vis, with  an  aching  head  and  irritable  temper  after  his  ca- 
rouse of  the  preceding  night,  was  eager  to  find  fault  with 
something  or  some  one,  and  speedily  became  aware  of  the 
boys'  depression. 

"  You  two  look  as  gloomy  as  mutes  at  a  funeral !"  he  said, 
impatiently.  "A  pretty  pair  of  soldiers  you  will  make  if  you 
have  no  better  spirit  than  this." 


69 

"Dick  has  shown  more  ardor  in  the  cause  than  you," 
said  Sir  Thomas,  shortly,  "  and  as  for  Joscelyn,  I  warrant 
he  will  fight  for  the  King  as  boldly  as  any  man.  Eh,  my 
son  ?" 

There  was  dead  silence.  Rosamond  saw  the  color  rush 
into  Joscelyn's  face  ;  she  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  help 
him. 

"  Is  it  not  fortunate,"  she  began,  "  that  his  knee  is — " 

But  her  mother  checked  her  sharply. 

"  Rosamond,"  she  said,  "  you  forget  yourself.  How  often 
must  I  tell  you  that  you  are  not  to  speak  until  you  are 
spoken  to  ?"  The  child's  head  drooped ;  she  waited  in  an 
agony  of  suspense  to  see  what  would  happen. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you,  sir,  at  Lincoln,"  said  Jervis,  with  a 
grating  laugh,  "this  cock  will  not  fight ?  Joscelyn  will  take 
his  ease  at  home  with  his  books  while  we  go  out  to  battle. 
At  heart  he  is  a  Puritan." 

The  father  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  annoyance  and 
perplexity  in  his  honest  old  face.  At  Lincoln,  Joscelyn  had 
fired  up  indignantly  at  a  similar  reproach  ,  now  he  sat  silent 
with  downcast  eyes. 

"  Come,  my  lads,  don't  quarrel,"  he  said.  "  We  need  all 
our  strength  against  the  enemy,  and  cannot  afford  to  dis- 
pute among  ourselves.  Why  don't  you  speak,  Joscelyn  ? 
Let  us  have  done  with  this  nonsense.  Tell  him  that  you 
will  fight  for  the  King — aye,  and  die  for  him  if  need  be." 

Joscelyn  glanced  hurriedly  round,  conscious  of  a  desper- 
ate wish  to  see  once  more  the  faces  of  his  family  before 
they  were  forever  changed  to  him.  The  look  of  pain  in  his 
eyes  startled  Sir  Thomas  as  it  had  startled  little  Rosamond 
in  the  arbor. 

"  It  cuts  me  to  the  heart,  sir,  to  grieve  you,"  said  Josce- 
lyn, speaking  with  great  effort,  "  but  I  cannot  fight  against 
the  Parliament." 


;o 

Sir  Thomas  neither  spoke  nor  moved  ;  the  blow  had 
fairly  stunned  him. 

Jervis  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  So  the  murder  is  out  at  last,"  he  said,  mockingly. 
"  Does  your  extremely  sensitive  conscience  allow  you  to 
handle  the  sword  at  all  ?  And  shall  we  have  the  pleasure 
of  fighting  against  you  ?  I  trow  not.  You  will  stay  at 
home  like  the  coward  that  you  are." 

But  this  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could  stand. 
Joscelyn  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  in  an  instant  had  drawn  his 
rapier.  "  Liar  !"  he  cried,  furiously. 

Dick,  however,  flung  himself  between  the  two,  and  amid 
shrieks  from  Lady  Heyworth  and  Isabella,  Sir  Thomas 
thundered  out  a  command  that  they  should  desist,  and  lest 
words  should  not  suffice,  wrenched  the  sword  from  Josce- 
lyn's  hand. 

"  You  are  no  coward,"  he  said ;  "  I  grant  you  that.  But 
you  are  worse — you  are  a  traitor.  Great  God !  to  think  that 
a  son  of  mine  should  be  disloyal  to  his  King !" 

He  broke  off  in  speechless  wrath  and  grief.  Joscelyn's 
anger  cooled  a  little  ;  he  forgot  Jervis,  and  began  to  think 
only  of  his  father. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  you  cannot  think  that  I  willingly  pain 
you.  And  if  you  wish  it  I  will  not  stir  in  this  quarrel,  but 
will  go  to  France  or  Italy  till  the  country  is  at  peace  once 
more." 

"  Go  to  the  devil !"  said  Sir  Thomas,  passionately.  "  Do 
you  think  I  shall  spend  another  penny  on  you?  What! 
send  you  to  foreign  parts  to  enjoy  yourself  as  a  reward  for 
your  disloyalty  ?  Nay,  in  truth,  I  will  arrest  you  rather,  and 
save  his  Majesty  from  one  dastardly  traitor.  You  would 
not  scruple  to  fight  against  your  King,  and  I  do  not  scruple 
to  put  you  under  arrest.  Would  to  God  you  had  never 
been  born  !" 


"  Sir !"  pleaded  Joscelyn,  "  at  least  hear  me ;  let  me  tell 
you  how — " 

But  Sir  Thomas,  who  was  now  in  a  towering  rage,  inter- 
rupted him  with  a  volley  of  oaths. 

"  Let  me  neither  hear  your  traitorous  tongue  nor  see 
your  face  till  you  have  repented,  till  you  have  returned  to 
your  allegiance.  Wife,  let  me  have  the  key  of  the  tapestry- 
room.  'Twill  at  least  serve  as  a  prison,  and  may  bring  this 
fool  to  his  senses." 

Lady  Heyworth  drew  forth  a  key  from  her  cabinet. 

"  Let  the  chaplain  first  argue  with  him,"  she  urged.  "  He 
does  not,  perchance,  understand  how  in  fighting  against  the 
King  he  fights  against  the  Church  too." 

"  Nay,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  vehemently,  "  I  will  have  him 
under  lock  and  key  first,  and  you  can  try  your  arguings 
afterwards.  Now,  boy,  either  swear  this  minute  to  fight 
against  the  rebels,  or  else  I  arrest  you  as  a  traitor." 

Joscelyn's  face  suddenly  changed.  The  sorrowful,  down- 
cast expression  was  chased  away  by  a  flash  of  enthusiasm. 

"  To  the  Parliament  I  vow  my  service  !"  he  cried.  "And 
may  God  preserve  the  liberties  of  England !" 

"  Let  this  traitor  be  removed !"  shouted  Sir  Thomas. 
"  Jervis,  fetch  in  the  men  and  let  him  be  taken  at  once." 

"There  is  no  need  to  use  force,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  quietly. 
"  I  shall  submit  to  your  word  better  than  to  a  pack  of  serv- 
ants." 

He  gave  one  glance  towards  poor  Rosamond,  and  then 
followed  his  father  out  of  the  room,  while  Jervis  and  Dick, 
from  different  motives,  hurriedly  closed  up  the  rear. 

For  a  minute  Rosamond  remained  at  table,  tears  stream- 
ing down  her  face,  though  her  sobs  were  restrained  in  a 
curious  unchildlike  fashion,  the  result  of  her  severe  train- 
ing. But  when  she  found  that  her  mother  and  Isabella 
were  far  too  much  absorbed  in  discussing  Joscelyn's  unfortu- 


72 

nate  views  to  notice  her,  she  slipped  quietly  from  the  room, 
crossed  the  square  entrance -hall,  and  flew  up  the  broad 
staircase  and  along  the  corridors  till  she  came  to  the  wing 
in  which  was  situated  the  tapestry-room,  long  disused,  be- 
cause it  was  said  to  be  haunted.  Her  father  was  just  un- 
locking the  door,  and  with  a  sort  of  shuddering  curiosity 
mingled  with  her  grief  she  stole  up  on  tiptoe  and  peeped 
in  as  well  as  she  could  between  Dick  and  a  shabby  old 
curtain  hanging  before  the  oriel-window  in  the  passage. 

At  rare  intervals  the  haunted  room  was  swept  out,  but 
the  windows  were  boarded  up,  and  it  had  never  been  used 
since  the  latter  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign,  when  a  cer- 
tain John  Heyworth,  the  young  orphan  heir  to  the  estate, 
had  been  murdered  by  his  guardian  in  the  very  same  old 
four-post  bed  which  Rosamond  now  caught  sight  of. 

Into  this  dread  abode  Joscelyn  found  himself  securely 
locked  and  bolted  ;  he  flung  himself  into  the  first  chair  he 
came  to,  far  too  much  agitated  by  all  that  had  passed  to 
give  a  thought  as  yet  to  his  surroundings.  That  his  father 
was  a  hot-tempered  man  he  had  always  known,  but  he  had 
never  before  seen  him  so  deeply  wounded,  so  full  of  grief 
as  well  as  of  wrath.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  love  for  Sir 
Thomas,  his  perception  of  the  stanch  faithfulness  of  his 
father  to  that  idea  of  the  divine  right  of  the  King  to  receive 
the  passive  and  unreasoning  obedience  of  the  subject,  he 
would,  perhaps,  have  found  time  to  be  indignant  with  the 
way  in  which  he  was  treated.  But  the  ignominy  of  his  im- 
prisonment did  not  greatly  affect  him  ;  it  was  of  deeper 
things  that  he  thought — of  the  hopelessness  of  the  separa- 
tion that  had  arisen  between  him  and  all  he  loved  best ;  of 
the  dark  mysterious  future  awaiting  not  himself  alone,  but 
the  whole  country ;  of  the  strangely  mingled  good  and  evil 
on  either  side.  The  thought  of  the  war  brought  him  back 
to  his  own  situation.  He  had  vowed  his  service  to  the  Par- 


73 

liament,  but  he  knew  well  enough  that  his  father's  vow  to 
keep  him  in  durance  till  he  would  swear  to  change  sides 
had  been  registered  just  as  firmly  and  with  just  as  strong  a 
consciousness  of  right.  Heyworths  were  not  in  the  habit 
of  yielding,  and  he  built  nothing  on  the  chance  that  either 
of  them  might  think  of  relenting. 

He  knew  that  Sir  Thomas  was  quite  capable  of  keeping 
him  a  prisoner  for  weeks  if  necessary,  and  that  the  war 
should  last  longer  than  a  few  weeks  was  a  contingency  that 
had  as  yet  occurred  to  no  one  in  the  country.  All  thought 
that  one  great  battle  would  settle  the  dispute. 

But  Joscelyn  had  no  intention  of  occupying  the  haunted 
room  longer  than  he  could  help  ;  he  had  not  been  in  it  an 
hour  before  he  was  calculating  the  chances  of  escape.  Fort- 
unately the  sun  was  full  on  the  room,  so  that  in  spite  of 
the  boarded  windows  a  fair  amount  of  light  stole  in  through 
cracks  and  crevices,  the  knots  in  the  wood  gleaming  out 
ruddily.  He  wondered  whether  escape  in  that  direction 
were  possible,  but  he  had  no  sort  of  weapon  with  which  to 
work  at  the  closely  nailed  boards.  He  then  lifted  the  tap- 
estry on  each  side  of  the  walls,  hoping  that  by  chance  there 
might  be  some  secret  door  or  sliding  panel  leading  into  the 
adjoining  room  ;  the  process  half  choked  him  with  dust,  but 
his  search  was  useless.  He  began  to  fear  that  he  could 
not  get  out  unless  he  had  the  help  of  some  accomplice  in 
the  household,  and  from  this  idea  he  shrank,  dreading  lest 
he  should  bring  trouble  on  others.  All  at  once  the  only 
available  way  of  escape  occurred  to  him.  With  hurried 
steps  he  crossed  the  room  to  the  fireplace,  and  looked 
anxiously  up  the  wide  old  chimney.  If  his  knee  did  not 
play  him  false  he  thought  he  could  manage  it ;  the  part  he 
felt  uncertain  about  was  the  possibility  of  descent  from  the 
outside,  till  suddenly,  as  he  was  musing  over  the  position  of 
the  chimney-stack,  he  recollected  that  it  also  contained  the 


74 

chimney  of  the  room  immediately  below.  This  room  had 
recently  been  fitted  up  as  a  private  study  for  the  chaplain, 
who,  not  being  of  a  superstitious  frame  of  mind,  had  no  ob- 
jection at  all  to  the  ghostly  rappings  and  scufflings  over- 
head. If,  then,  Joscelyn  could  climb  up  the  chimney  of 
the  tapestry-room  and  down  the  chimney  of  the  chaplain's 
study,  he  might,  if  he  chose  his  time  carefully,  walk  out  of 
the  house  with  the  greatest  ease.  Throwing  himself  back 
in  the  chair  once  more,  he  thought  out  by  degrees  his  plan 
of  action.  To  attempt  the  escape  at  once  was  out  of  the 
question,  for  it  was  a  Saturday,  and  on  that  day  the  chap- 
lain was  sure  to  be  writing  his  sermons.  He  must  wait 
until  Sunday ;  then,  in  the  evening,  when  the  family  were 
at  church  and  the  chaplain  safely  in  the  pulpit,  he  would  at 
any  rate  make  the  attempt.  There  was  only  one  part  of 
this  plan  from  which  he  shrank :  he  could  not  endure  to  go 
away  without  a  word  of  farewell  to  Dick  and  Rosamond, 
yet  he  dared  not  take  them  into  the  secret  of  his  escape,  lest 
afterwards  they  should  be  questioned  by  Sir  Thomas.  At 
last  he  resolved  on  a  compromise  ;  he  would  write  Rosa- 
mond a  note  asking  her  to  be  in  the  arbor  in  the  garden  on 
Sunday  evening  while  the  rest  were  at  church,  and  to  in- 
duce Dick  to  stay  with  her.  He  knew  that  the  child  never 
went  to  the  evening  service,  and  that  Dick  could  very  well 
stay  at  home  without  provoking  any  remark,  while  as  to 
Jervis,  it  was  highly  improbable  that  he  would  be  sober. 

Having  once  determined  upon  this  plan,  he  set  his  wits 
to  work  as  to  the  letter  itself.  He  thought  it  possible  that 
either  Dick  or  Rosamond  would  contrive  to  steal  up  to 
speak  to  him  before  night,  and  he  could  easily  slip  a  letter 
under  the  door  to  them,  but  the  worst  difficulty  would  be 
to  find  anything  to  write  on.  After  some  little  trouble  he 
managed  to  wrench  from  the  wall  a  nail  which  supported 
an  ill-drawn  picture  of  poor  John  Heyworth  ;  this  would 


75 

serve  both  to  draw  blood  from  his  wrist  and  to  scrawl  fairly 
legible  characters ;  he  then  hunted  all  over  the  place  for 
something  upon  which  it  was  possible  to  write  ;  at  last,  and 
not  without  a  shudder  of  distaste,  he  came  to  the  bed  itself 
and  drew  back  the  dingy  old  hangings.  Tradition  had 
handed  down  the  story  of  the  murdered  boy,  and  the  details 
flashed  back  now  into  Joscelyn's  mind.  It  was  just  fifty 
years  ago  that  the  treacherous  guardian,  who  had  been  next 
heir  to  the  estate,  had  stolen  into  this  tapestry-room  in  the 
dead  of  night  and  had  attempted  to  strangle  his  ward ;  John 
Heyworth  had,  however,  been  roused,  and  a  desperate  strug- 
gle had  ensued  ;  finally  he  had  been  stabbed.  But  the 
guardian  had  managed  to  deceive  every  one,  and  to  make  it 
appear  that  the  youth  had  broken  a  blood-vessel.  He  suc- 
ceeded to  the  estate,  but  the  ghost  of  his  victim  left  him  no 
peace ;  and  although  he  had  the  tapestry-room  entirely  closed, 
the  visitant  from  another  world  pursued  him  wherever  he 
went,  and  the  matter  so  preyed  on  his  mind  that  he  fell  sick 
and  died  within  a  year,  making  full  confession  in  his  last  mo- 
ments. The  estate  had  then  passed  to  quite  another  branch 
of  the  family,  the  Lincolnshire  Heyworths.  Sir  Thomas's 
father  had  lived  for'two-and-twenty  years  at  Shortell,  and 
in  1615  Sir  Thomas  had  come  into  the  property.  Curiously 
enough,  the  ghost  still  continued  to  haunt  the  tapestry- 
room,  and  Joscelyn  as  a  child  had  often  heard,  with  shud- 
dering awe,  the  blows,  the  scuffling  of  feet,  and  the  piercing 
cries  which  at  times  penetrated  to  the  rest  of  the  house. 

The  murderer  had  decreed  that  the  room  should  be  left 
precisely  as  it  was  at  the  time  of  John  Heyworth's  death. 
Joscelyn  perceived  as  he  drew  aside  the  rotten  old  curtains 
that  the  very  bedclothes  were  still  there.  Shivering  a  little, 
he  drew  back  the  mouldy  coverlet  and  blanket — the  sheets 
had  been  removed,  but  even  in  the  dim  light  he  could  see  a 
dark  stain  on  the  bed  beneath.  A  feeling  of  chill  horror 


76 

crept  over  him  ;  he  would  have  turned  away  had  it  not  been 
for  a  strange  sense  of  expectancy  for  which  he  could  not  ac- 
count. He  lifted  aside  the  pillow,  and  slightly  raised  the 
bolster  under  it.  To  his  surprise,  he  saw  a  small  brown 
volume,  and  taking  it  up  found  that  it  was  a  psalter,  and 
that  in  many  places  the  edges  of  the  leaves  and  even  the 
margins  were  stained,  as  though  blood  had  trickled  over 
them.  Somehow  the  sight  of  it  made  the  past  curiously 
vivid  to  him,  and  a  sense  of  deep  compassion  for  his  young 
kinsman  took  possession  of  his  heart.  He  crossed  the  room 
to  look  once  more  in  the  uncertain  light  at  the  picture 
which  he  had  just  taken  from  the  wall ;  he  even  fancied  a 
sort  of  likeness  between  himself  and  the  youth  with  the  fair 
hair  and  broad  Elizabethan  ruff,  whose  eyes  looked  back  at 
him  from  the  picture  with  such  curious  sadness. 

Beside  the  bed  there  was  a  sconce  for  a  candle,  which  he 
had  not  before  noticed.  He  pictured  to  himself  how  John 
Heyworth  had  read  the  psalms  for  the  evening,  had  put  out 
the  light,  had  drawn  those  very  curtains,  and  had  fallen 
asleep  at  peace  with  God  and  man ;  how  he  had  been 
roused  to  find  the  foul  treachery  of  his  guardian,  and  to 
make  a  desperate  but  ineffectual  effort' to  save  himself.  He 
wondered  why  he  had  never  before  thought  with  strong 
sympathy  of  his  dead  kinsman,  and  had  been  content  to 
regard  "  The  Ghost "  with  trembling  awe  and  vague  dislike. 
This  book  under  the  pillow  had  made  John  Heyworth 
human  to  him,  and  it  was  with  a  sort  of  apology  to  the 
murdered  boy  that  he  tore  the  fly-leaf  from  the  psalter,  and, 
while  the  light  still  lasted,  traced  upon  it  the  message  for 
Rosamond.  This  done,  he  wiped  the  mould  from  the 
covers  of  the  book  and  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  doublet, 
rearranged  the  bed,  drew  the  curtains,  and  retired  once 
more  to  the  big  high-backed  chair  by  the  hearth. 

Slowly  and  wearily  the  hours  dragged  by.     He  heard  the 


77 

sounds  of  drilling  in  the  park,  he  heard  Rosamond  practis- 
ing Whitelocke's  coranto  on  her  lute,  he  heard  his  father's 
voice  and  the  chaplain's  in  the  room  below.  But  no  one 
came  near  him,  and  at  last  it  became  clear  to  him  that  his 
imprisonment  was  to  be  rendered  as  hard  as  possible,  and 
that  he  need  not  look  for  food  or  water  before  the  morrow. 
Towards  evening  for  very  weariness  he  fell  asleep,  but 
the  straight-backed  chair,  though  possessing  old-fashioned 
high  sides  to  it,  which  had  seemed  comfortable  enough  at 
first,  proved  but  a  chilly  couch,  and  Joscelyn's  sleep  was 
uneasy,  and  broken  by  horrible  dreams.  Just  at  midnight 
he  was  roused  by  the  most  appalling  noise  in  the  room. 
The  well-known  sounds  which  in  the  distance  had  often 
made  his  blood  run  cold  were  now  in  his  very  ears ;  his 
heart  beat  wildly,  it  seemed  to  him  that  evil  spirits  filled 
the  room,  he  could  hear  the  flapping  of  their  wings,  could 
hear  their  hideous  cries,  and  before  that  awful  dread  of  the 
mysterious  and  unseen  his  Courage  fled.  He  cowered  back 
in  the  depths  of  the  chair,  cursing  the  fate  that  had  con- 
demned him  to  pass  a  night  in  the  midst  of  such  horrors. 
A  deadly  fight  was  going  on  close  to  the  bed,  there  could 
be  no  manner  of  doubt  as  to  that ;  but  blackest  darkness 
filled  the  room,  and  he  could  see  nothing  whatever.  That 
the  spirit  of  John  Heyworth  was  uttering  those  fearful 
shrieks  he  somehow  could  not  any  longer  bring  himself  to 
believe.  Possibly  he  might  have  been  permitted  to  haunt 
the  guilty  conscience  of  his  murderer,  but  now,  surely, 
"  after  life's  fitful  fever  "  he  rested  well.  Could  it,  he  won- 
dered, be  the  torment  of  the  faithless  guardian  to  re-enact 
that  ghastly  tragedy  with  the  roles  reversed,  and  to  struggle 
against  demons  for  his  life  ?  The  thought  was  hardly  cal- 
culated to  lessen  his  terror,  and  an  overmastering  desire 
for  light  possessed  him.  He  thought  of  the  sconce  behind 
the  bed,  but  the  remains  of  the  candle  had  long  ago  mould- 


78 

ered  away.  Then  he  remembered  that  the  tinder-box  had 
stood  on  a  rude  bracket  close  by  it,  and  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  crossing  the  room  to  fetch  it.  Angry  with  him- 
self when  he  found  that  his  knees  smote  together,  he  forced 
himself  to  get  up  and  cautiously  to  grope  his  way  by  the 
wall  in  the  direction  of  the  sconce.  The  combatants  were 
far  too  much  absorbed  in  their  deadly  strife  to  heed  his 
movements,  and  with  throbbing  heart  he  drew  nearer  and  yet 
nearer,  till  at  last  he  had  seized  the  box,  and  drawing  forth 
the  flint  and  steel,  struck  them  with  desperate  energy.  The 
tinder  flared  up,  and  Joscelyn,  glancing  round  eagerly,  saw 
to  his  amazement  that  all  this  ghastly  and  terrifying  noise 
had  been  produced  by  three  bats  who  were  engaged  in  a 
desperate  fight.  At  the  sudden  light  they  dispersed  with 
shrill  screams,  two  of  them  instantly  making  for  the  fire- 
place, the  other  retreating  with  flapping  wings  to  the  bed 
tester,  where,  doubtless,  it  had  long  found  a  home.  In  his 
relief  he  laughed  at  the  thought  that  such  harmless  things 
had,  with  the  help  of  darkness  and  tradition,  driven  him 
almost  out  of  his  senses  with  fright.  Then  returning  once 
more  across  the  dark  room,  he  settled  himself  for  the  night 
in  the  depths  of  the  old  chair,  and,  falling  asleep,  dreamed 
that  John  Heyworth  stood  beside  him  bidding  him  take 
courage,  telling  him  that  in  all  his  loneliness  he  was  not 
forsaken,  but  compassed  by  great  hosts  of  witnesses ;  re- 
minding him  that  earthly  existence  with  its  pain  and  strife 
was  but  "  as  a  dream  when  one  awaketh,"  and  that  beyond 
lay  the  real  life  which  alone  could  satisfy  the  heart  of  man. 
His  night  in  the  haunted  room  taught  him  forever  to  dis- 
believe in  the  vulgar  tales  of  noisy  and  terrifying  ghosts, 
but  to  believe  more  than  he  had  ever  done  before  that  the 
world  of  the  seen  and  the  world  of  the  unseen  were  really 
as  closely  united  as  the  body  and  the  spirit  of  man  himself. 
In  truth,  he  needed  all  the  comfort  that  could  be  brought  to 


79 

him  in  sleep,  for  it  was  painful  enough  to  wake  the  next 
morning  to  the  recollection  of  his  father's  anger,  and  to  the 
thought  that  he  must  this  day  go  forth  into  exile,  penniless, 
unarmed,  and  alone.  As  the  clock  struck  five  he  heard  a 
low  tap  at  the  door;  some  one  called  him  by  his  name;  it 
was  Rosamond. 

"  Joscelyn,"  she  whispered,  as  he  drew  close  to  the  key- 
hole, "  I  could  not  come  before  ;  they  watched  me  too 
closely.  Did  the  ghost  harm  you  ?  I  hardly  slept  for  fear- 
ing it." 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  has  done  me  good  service,"  said 
Joscelyn,  "  But  do  not  stay  here,  lest  they  find  you  out. 
See,  I  have  written  you  a  letter.  Do  not  fail  me." 

He  pushed  the  fly-leaf  of  the  psalter  under  the  door, 
and  Rosamond  stole  away  to  read  it  in  secret,  then  to 
discuss  it  with  Dick,  who  was  quite  unable  to  guess  in 
what  way  escape  from  the  tapestry-room  could  be  effected. 
However,  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  keep  their  own 
counsel,  and,  as  Joscelyn  wished,  wait  for  him  in  the  arbor 
that  evening. 

In  the  tapestry-room  the  hours  passed  heavily  enough. 
Shortly  after  the  usual  breakfast  hour  Joscelyn  heard  the 
bolts  of  his  door  withdrawn,  and,  somewhat  to  his  surprise, 
his  mother  entered,  bearing  in  her  own  hands  a  loaf  and  a 
jug  of  water.  Most  of  Lady  Heyworth's  love  had  been  lav- 
ished on  her  two  elder  children,  but  Joscelyn  had  always 
got  on  well  with  his  mother,  and  his  love  for  her  was  very 
great.  When  he  saw  the  cloud  on  her  brow  his  heart  sank 
within  him. 

"  Have  you  thought  better  of  your  folly  ?"  she  asked, 
coldly. 

"  I  have  not  changed  my  mind,  mother,"  he  replied.  And 
then,  an  odd  giddiness  seizing  him,  he  took  up  the  jug  of 
water  which  she  had  set  down  on  the  floor,  and  drank  thirst- 


8o 


ily.  She  stood  watching  him  intently,  and  as  she  watched 
the  cloud  on  her  face  darkened  and  her  brown  eyes  grew 
hard  and  pitiless. 

"  I  am  glad  you  do  suffer,"  she  said.  "  You  have  brought 
misery  enough  to  your  father  and  to  me  at  a  time  when 
there  was  need  of  comfort  rather  than  of  fresh  trouble." 

"  Mother !"  he  cried,  desperately,  "  do  not  let  these  mat- 
ters come  between  us.  After  all,  how  can  they  touch  my 
love  to  you — my  duty  ?  I  will  be  content  not  to  fight — will 
stay  here  at  Shortell.  It  is  not  fit  that  you  should  be  left 
alone  in  this  country-house  in  war-time." 

"  I  am  very  sensible  of  your  kindness,"  she  said,  mock- 
ingly. "  But  I  should  prefer  to  have  in  the  house  any  loyal 
yeoman  or  peasant.  What !  do  you  think  I  would  have  as 
protector,  or  own  as  my  son,  one  of  the  King's  enemies  ? 
Nay,  indeed,  until  you  change  your  mind  I  will  see  you  no 
more  !" 

She  turned  as  though  to  go,  but  he  strode  forward  and 
stood  in  front  of  the  door.  Something  in  his  face  frightened 
her ;  perhaps  it  was  the  grief,  perhaps  the  resoluteness  of 
his  expression. 

"  Then  kiss  me,  mother,"  he  said.  "  For  this  is  our  last 
meeting." 

The  conviction  with  which  he  spoke  the  words,  and  per- 
haps a  faint  return  of  motherly  pride  in  the  tall  strong  figure 
blocking  the  way,  and  almost  commanding  a  farewell,  sud- 
denly broke  down  her  pride.  She  kissed  him,  and  went 
from  the  room  weeping.  The  sight  of  her  tears  was  almost 
more  than  he  could  endure  ,  he  paced  to  and  fro  in  hopeless 
misery.  After  all,  had  John  Heyworth's  fate  been  so  sad  ? 
Would  not  death — an  early  death — solve  all  these  miserable 
problems,  and  end  the  worst  of  the  separation  ?  It  is  a  mis- 
take to  think  that  it  is  only  the  aged  who  look  forward  to 
death  with  longing;  there  are  moments  in  youth  when  the 


8i 

sick  distaste  for  life,  the  fierce  craving  for  freedom  from 
pain,  work  upon  the  mind  much  more  actively,  though, 
doubtless,  in  a  healthy  nature,  they  are  soon  conquered. 
Stretched  on  the  floor  of  the  deserted  room,  his  face  hidden, 
his  frame  shaken  with  sobs,  Joscelyn  Heyworth  fought  his 
way  through  his  first  great  trouble,  and  presently,  exhausted 
by  want  of  food  and  by  strong  emotion,  sleep  fell  upon  him, 
and  once  more  the  spirit  of  his  dead  kinsman  brought  him 
comfort.  It  spoke  of  the  shortness,  yet  of  the  vast  impor- 
tance, of  the  life  on  earth — the  sole  time  in  which  it  is  given 
to  man  to  suffer  for  the  truth;  and  when,  before  long,  Josce- 
lyn awoke,  he  rose  with  a  strange  new  energy  of  endurance, 
a  sense  that  he  was  needed,  and  called  and  intrusted  with 
a  part  in  the  great  struggle  for  freedom.  It  was  well  for 
him  that  he  could  not  look  on  into  the  future,  could  not  tell 
how  slowly,  how  painfully,  with  what  dire  checks,  liberty 
would  gradually  advance  —  well  for  him  that  he  thought  a 
few  months  would  bring  in  the  reign  of  peace  and  justice. 
For  most  truly  "we  are  saved  by  hope,"  and  the  disappoint- 
ments and  griefs,  which  would  be  intolerable  were  they 
foreseen  as  a  whole,  can  be  borne  as  they  come  to  us  one 
by  one. 

Refreshed  by  sleep  and  food,  he  began  to  feel  eager  to 
attempt  his  escape,  and  the  hours  of  waiting  seemed  long 
to  him.  Sometimes  he  read  in  the  psalter,  sometimes  stud- 
ied the  picture  of  John  Heyworth,  or  the  quaint  designs 
on  the  tapestry,  and  then  again  he  would  pace  to  and  fro 
trying  to  plan  out  his  future  life,  and  wondering  where  and 
how  he  should  again  meet  Mr.  Hampden.  At  last,  to  his 
relief,  he  heard  the  bells  of  Shortell  Church  ringing  for 
evening  service ,  later  on,  listening  intently,  he  heard  the 
closing  of  the  great  front  door,  and  the  steps  and  voices  of 
those  who  were  going  to  church.  When  the  bells  ceased 
chiming,  and  the  process  of  tolling-in  began,  he  knew  that 
6 


82 

his  time  was  come.  With  one  more  look  round  the  haunted 
room  where  he  had  passed  through  so  grievous  a  struggle, 
he  turned  away,  and  with  some  difficulty  worked  his  way 
up  the  wide  old-fashioned  chimney,  where  the  two  bats  had 
disappeared  on  the  previous  night.  At  length,  breathless 
and  half  choking,  he  reached  the  place  where  the  other 
chimney  opened  into  the  shaft.  Here  he  paused  for  a 
minute  or  two,  thankful  to  find  a  ledge  that  would  sup- 
port him.  The  ascent  had  been  manageable,  but  about  the 
descent  of  the  chaplain's  chimney  he  did  not  feel  quite  so 
easy  in  his  mind.  Luckily  he  had  a  steady  head,  and  was 
well  used  to  athletics,  and  though  the  descent  was  difficult 
and  dangerous,  and  the  prospect  of  lying  on  the  hearth  be- 
low with  broken  bones  more  than  once  flashed  across  him, 
as  with  every  muscle  strained  he  cautiously  made  his  way 
down,  yet  in  the  end  he  found  himself  standing  safely  on 
the  floor  of  the  study,  giddy  and  shaken,  with  strained  and 
bleeding  hands,  but- otherwise  none  the  worse  for  the  ad- 
venture. 

Opening  the  door,  he  listened  for  a  minute,  but  the  house 
was  perfectly  still.  The  servants  were  far  away  in  the  north 
wing,  and  even  if  they  heard  steps  would  merely  think  that 
Dick  had  come  in  from  the  garden.  So  he  quietly  walked 
along  the  corridor  into  the  hall,  and-up-stairs  to  his  room, 
and  having  washed  off  the  soot  and  dust  with  which  he  was 
begrimed,  and  hastily  changed  his  clothes,  he  snatched  up 
his  hat  and  cloak  and  stole  down  again,  going  by  a  side 
door  into  the  garden.  In  three  minutes  he  had  gained  the 
shrubbery,  and  striding  along  the  paths  by  which  he  had 
only  two  days  before  conducted  Isabella  and  Sir  Toby, 
he  hurried  towards  the  arbor,  where  Dick  and  Rosamond 
greeted  him  with  exclamations  of  surprise  and  delight. 

"  How  did  you  manage  to  get  out  ?"  cried  Rosamond. 
"  And  oh,  look  at  your  hands  !  How  you  have  hurt  them  !" 


83 

"The  brickwork  of  the  chimney  is  rough.  But  that  is 
nothing,"  he  replied,  sitting  down  between  them.  "I  am 
out  and  free,  and  can  breathe  again.  The  air  of  that  room 
is  like  a  vault." 

"  But  what  will  you  do  ?"  said  Dick,  whose  merry,  care- 
less face  had  grown  strangely  grave.  "  You  have  no  money." 

"  Not  a  farthing,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  But  I  have  a  good  pair 
of  legs,  at  any  rate,  and  it  will  go  hard  with  me  if  I  cannot 
contrive  to  reach  Mr.  Hampden  and  claim  his  promise  of 
help,  which  help,  I  take  it,  will  be  a  post  in  his  regiment." 

"  I  lost  what  little  I  had  at  play  last  night,"  said  Dick, 
ruefully,  "  or  it  should  have  been  yours." 

"  And  I  have  but  these  few  pennies,"  said  Rosamond ; 
"but  they  will  be  better  than  nothing."  And  amid  protests 
and  some  laughter  she  succeeded  in  putting  them  into  the 
pocket  of  his  doublet.  Soon,  however,  the  sense  of  the 
parting  that  must  come  in  a  few  minutes  sobered  them. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  Dick,  which  you  will  do  for  me," 
said  Joscelyn,  huskily ;  "  be  to  my  father  what  Jervis  can 
never  be,  what  I  would  fain  have  been." 

"  I  can  never  make  up  to  him  for  you,"  said  Dick  ;  "  but 
I  will  not  leave  him,  I  promise  you.  Oh,  Joscelyn !  is  there 
no  help  for  it  ?  Must  you  indeed  go  ?" 

"  There  is  no  help,"  said  Joscelyn,  gravely.  "  Did  we 
not  talk  it  all  out  the  other  night  ?  Neither  of  us  can  go 
against  his  conscience.  Better  to  be  opposed  to  each  other 
than  to  be  false  to  the  sense  of  right." 

He  rose  to  go,  but  Rosamond  clung  to  him  with  such 
bitter  sobs  that  he  was  almost  unnerved. 

"  Oh,  why  must  it  be  ?"  she  cried.  "  If  only  it  could  have 
been  Jervis !  Why — why  is  there  war  at  all  ?" 

That  was  the  question  going  up  from  thousands  of  hearts 
in  England  on  that  peaceful  August  evening,  and  many 
households  were  as  cruelly  divided  as  this  one  —  father 


84 

against  son,  and  brother  against  brother.  There  was  a 
painful  silence  in  the  arbor.  Dick,  with  a  choking  feeling 
in  his  throat,  looked  across  at  poor  little  Rosamond  as  she 
clung  to  her  favorite  brother,  and  he  knew  that  for  his  sake 
Joscelyn  would  say  no  more  as  to  the  necessity  of  war  and 
the  reasons  for  it.  The  silence  was  eloquent  of  love  trium- 
phant over  all  differences  of  view. 

"  Rosamond,"  said  Joscelyn,  at  last,  "  you  will  trust  us 
both,  aye,  and  pray  for  us  both,  I  know." 

She  checked  her  tears  with  an  effort. 

"  Always,  always !"  she  said,  fervently. 

"  We  cannot  tell  what  may  happen,"  he  went  on  ;  "but 
whenever  it  is  possible  I  will  send  word  to  Barnaby,  and  he 
will  tell  you  and  Dick,  and  hold  his  tongue  to  the  rest  of 
the  household.  You  must  tell  him  I  trust  to  him,  for  I  will 
not  risk  going  to  his  house  now.  Time  is  getting  on,  and  I 
ought  not  to  linger." 

The  terror  lest  her  father  should  by  chance  encounter 
Joscelyn  came  as  a  help  to  Rosamond's  courage,  and  car- 
ried her  through  the  parting. 

"  Yes,  go,"  she  said,  with  a  last  kiss.  "  The  service  may 
be  shorter  to-night  than  usual,  and  you  might  be  seen  and 
taken." 

Anxiety  now  drove  out  every  other  feeling,  and  she  was, 
in  fact,  the  only  clear-eyed  one  when,  with  a  last  embrace, 
Joscelyn  tore  himself  away  from  Dick  and  in  silence  left 
the  arbor.  He  would  not  let  them  come  with  him ;  but  when 
his  steps  had  died  away  in  the  distance  they  stole  down  to 
the  edge  of  the  shrubbery  and  watched  him  as  he  crossed 
the  park  in  the  direction  of  a  small  wicket-gate  at  the  south- 
eastern corner. 

"  Dick,"  said  Rosamond,  her  voice  faltering  a  little,  "  I 
believe  he  means  to  look  in  at  the  church,  that  he  may  at 
least  see  the  others  once  more." 


85 

Her  instinct  was  right.  Joscelyn  left  the  park,  walked 
hurriedly  along  the  deserted  road,  passed  through  the  church- 
yard gate,  and  strode  up  the  bricked  pathway  which  led  be- 
tween a  narrow  avenue  of  lime-trees  to  the  north  porch. 
He  did  not  enter  the  building,  but  crossed  the  grass  to  the 
south  side  and  stole  noiselessly  up  to  one  of  the  windows. 
The  old  Norman  church,  whose  curiously  bowed  pillars  rep- 
resented the  sides  of  a  ship,  the  familiar  round  -  headed 
arches,  the  little  side  chapel  where  from  his  childhood  he 
had  come  Sunday  by  Sunday  with  his  parents,  were  all 
clearly  revealed  to  him  ;  he  could  even  see  the  newly 
erected  brass  to  one  "John  Eager  20  March  1641,"  with 
its  quaint  design  of  a  skeleton,  and  below  the  solemn 
warning, 

"  Ye  earthly  impes  which  here  behold 

This  picture  with  your  eyes, 
Remember  the  end  of  mortal  men 
And  where  their  glory  lies." 

Close  by,  in  the  manor  pew,  with  their  backs  to  him,  he 
could  see  his  mother  and  Isabella,  but  his  father's  side  face 
was  visible  as  he  knelt  with  closed  eyes,  and  though  sobs 
rose  in  Joscelyn's  throat  as  he  watched  the  old  man's  de- 
vout face,  he  was  glad  that  he  could  take  away  a  happier 
remembrance  of  his  father  than  the  remembrance  of  that 
last  sight  of  him  in  fierce  anger  on  the  Saturday  morning. 
The  chaplain's  voice  reached  him  distinctly,  and  with  all 
his  heart  he  joined  once  more  in  the  words  hallowed  by  the 
use  of  so  many  centuries,  "  Fulfil  now,  O  Lord,  the  desires 
and  petitions  of  Thy  servants — as  may  be  most  expedient 
for  them ;  granting  us  in  this  world  knowledge  of  Thy  truth, 
and  in  the  world  to  come  life  everlasting." 

As  the  words  of  the  grace  were  spoken  he  looked  his  last 
on  his  father's  face,  and  moving  out  of  sight,  leaned  for  some 
minutes  against  the  church- wall,  face  and  attitude  alike  tell- 


86 


ing  of  the  grievous  pain  which  tore  his  heart.  Presently  the 
sound  of  music  roused  him,  and  through  the  open  windows 
there  floated  out  to  him  the  quaint  words  of  one  of  the  met- 
rical psalms : 

"  The  Lord  doth  reign,  whereat  the  earth 

May  joy  with  pleasant  voice, 
And  eke  the  Isles  with  joyful  mirth 

May  triumph  and  rejoice. 
Both  clouds  and  darkness  eke  do  swell 

And  round  about  Him  beat : 
Yea,  right  and  justice  ever  dwell 

And  bide  about  His  feet." 

Before  the  next  verse  was  ended  the  graveyard  was  once 
more  deserted  ;  the  lime-trees  rustled  sadly  in  the  evening 
breeze  ;  the  ruddy  sunset  light  cast  a  glow  over  the  old  gray 
church  and  softened  the  more  modern  brickwork  of  the 
tower,  and  touched  with  glory  the  tomb  of  John  Heyworth. 
But  within  the  church  remained  loyal  old  Sir  Thomas,  and 
without — a  solitary  wayfarer  passed  swiftly  along  the  rough 
high-road. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Both  Heaven  and  Hell  have  their  foundations  within  us.  Heaven 
primarily  lies  in  a  refined  temper,  in  an  internal  reconciliation  to  the 
nature  of  God,  and  to  the  rule  of  righteousness.  The  guilt  of  conscience 
and  enmity  to  righteousness  is  the  inward  state  of  Hell. 

— WHICHCOTE. 

JOSCELYN  had  turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  lit- 
tle town  of  Farnham,  his  road  lying  for  part  of  the  way 
through  the  Holt  Forest,  which  at  that  time  was  of  greater 
extent  than  at  present.  It  was  not  exactly  a  road  which  one 
would  have  chosen  to  travel  alone  and  unarmed,  but  he  was 
too  sad-hearted  to  give  a  thought  to  the  possible  dangers  of 
the  way,  and  he  passed  on  unmolested  in  the  summer  twi- 
light beneath  the  dark  oaks  and  beeches.  The  loneliness, 
the  semi-darkness,  the  utter  dreariness  of  the  walk,  accorded 
only  too  well  with  his  feelings,  and  it  was  a  relief  when  he 
had  left  the  forest  behind  him  and  had  reached  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  By  this  time  night  was  closing  in ;  he 
paused  for  a  minute,  looking  back  towards  his  home.  A 
cold  light  still  lingered  in  the  west,  dappled  with  dark 
clouds ;  the  sky  looked,  to  his  fancy,  like  the  side  of  an 
iron-gray  horse. 

With  a  heavy  heart  he  turned  away  and  walked  wearily 
on  through  the  familiar  little  town.  As  he  passed  along 
West  Street  and  the  Borough  it  crossed  his  mind  how,  not 
so  very  long  ago,  his  greatest  treat  had  been  to  come  in 
with  Dick  and  old  Barnaby  to  see  the  Farnham  horse-fair. 
A  great  gulf  seemed  to  lie  between  those  past  times  and 
this  dreary  present ;  he  seemed  to  himself  like  some  other 
being,  and  nothing  perhaps  but  the  sharp  pain  of  those  old 


88 


memories  as  they  contrasted  with  his  loneliness  could  have 
convinced  him  that  he  was  in  truth  the  same  Joscelyn  Hey- 
worth.  Lights  still  lingered  in  many  of  the  windows,  and 
from  the  celebrated  Bush  Inn  there  came  a  cheerful  glow 
and  a  sound  of  eager  voices.  He  reflected  that  although 
he  could  not  afford  to  pass  the  night  anywhere  except  in 
the  open  air,  yet  that  Rosamond's  pence  would  at  any  rate 
pay  for  a  manchet  of  bread  and  a  tankard  of  ale,  and  his 
walk  had  served  to  remind  him  that  during  the  last  two 
days  his  fare  had  been  but  scanty.  So  he  crossed  the  well- 
known  court -yard,  and  receiving  a  respectful  recognition 
from  the  landlord,  was  ushered  into  the  parlor  whence  the 
babel  of  tongues  had  proceeded. 

Mr.  Giles  Graham,  of  Guildford,  and  a  party  of  friends 
had  ridden  over  that  evening  and  were  supping,  the  land- 
lord explained,  and  he  proceeded  to  offer  his  guest  all  that 
the  house  would  afford :  a  cut  from  an  excellent  saddle  of 
mutton,  a  fat  capon,  deviled  kidneys,  or  toasted  cheese. 
Why  any  one  should  be  ashamed  of  poverty,  and  especially 
of  poverty  voluntarily  incurred  for  the  sake  of  a  principle, 
it  is  hard  to  say.  But  undoubtedly  this  human  weakness  is 
almost  universal,  and  Joscelyn,  as  he  declined  the  dainties 
offered  by  his  host,  colored  up  like  a  girl,  and  was  con- 
vinced that  the  man  could  see  that  of  silver  and  gold  he 
had  none.  However,  he  soon  recovered  his  equanimity, 
and  forgot  himself  in  the  interest  of  the  talk  going  on 
around  him.  Apparently  Mr.  Giles  Graham  had  been 
drinking  rather  freely ;  he  was  a  burly,  thick-set  man,  and 
looked  the  soul  of  good-nature ,  he  was  talking  to  a  sallow 
and  rather  surly-faced  man  at  his  right,  and  Joscelyn  speed- 
ily discovered  that  the  war  was  the  subject  under  discus- 
sion. 

"  Surrey  for  the  Parliament,  do  you  say  ?"  roared  Mr. 
Graham.  "  I  tell  you  the  knaves  are  counting  their  chick- 


89 

ens  before  they  are  hatched.  There  are  plenty  of  loyal 
hearts  in  Surrey,  I'll  be  bound." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  the  sallow  man,  with  a 
frown.  u  The  very  business  we  are  met  upon  shows  that. 
But  already  the  rebels  are  beginning  to  attack  the  houses 
of  the  Catholic  gentry,  and  to  take  all  the  arms  they  can 
lay  hold  of,  and  it  behooves  us  to  be  as  active.  What 
chances  are  there  in  your  neighborhood,  Sir  Andrew?" 

The  young  man  appealed  to  was  invisible  to  Joscelyn,  be- 
ing far  up  on  the  same  side  of  the  table. 

"There  is  only  one,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,"  he  replied, 
"  but  that  would  be  worth  trying.  A  fine  strong  Tudor 
house  in  a  picked  position,  commanding  three  valleys,  and 
close  to  the  road,  with  a  good  store  of  old  arms,  and,  what 
is  better,  with  plenty  of  spoil,  for  the  place  belongs  to  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  the  county." 

"  But  doubtless  it  will  be  well  defended,"  said  Mr.  Graham. 

"  I  don't  think  it,"  said  Sir  Andrew.  "  Old  Sir  Robert 
Neal  is  too  easy-going  and  unsuspicious." 

"  Good.  Then  that  house  shall  head  our  list,  and  the 
sooner  it  is  attacked  the  better,"  replied  the  other. 

They  proceeded  to  discuss  various  houses  where  arms 
might  possibly  be  obtained,  but  the  talk  gradually  became 
less  coherent  and  more  noisy ;  and  presently,  taking  advan- 
tage of  a  boisterous  drinking  chorus  to  cover  his  retreat, 
Joscelyn  slipped  quietly  from  the  room.  Either  the  supper 
party  had  not  noticed  him  at  all,  or  in  their  noisy  merri- 
ment had  laid  aside  the  prudence  which  would  have  sug- 
gested the  possibility  that  this  youth  might  belong  to  the 
Parliamentary  party. 

Having  parted  with  the  very  last  of  Rosamond's  pence, 
Joscelyn  left  the  Bush  and  wandered  out  into  the  summer 
night.  It  was  clearly  now  his  duty  to  go  to  Katterham  at 
once,  and  acquaint  Sir  Robert  with  what  he  had  heard,  but 


9Q 

he  was  too  tired  to  walk  any  farther  that  night,  and  having 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  he  bethought  him  that 
the  park  would  prove  a  tolerably  safe  sleeping-place ;  and 
turning  up  past  a  way-side  inn  named  the  Six  Bells,  he 
scaled  the  park  fence,  and  soon  found  a  sheltered  nook, 
where,  with  a  sloping  bank  behind  him  and  a  thick  growth 
of  brake-fern  by  way  of  covering,  he  made  himself  a  toler- 
ably comfortable  bed.  Yet  it  was  long  ere  he  could  sleep, 
for  his  brain  was  over- excited  by  the  suffering  he  had 
passed  through.  He  lay  listening  to  the  sighing  of  the 
wind  in  the  tall  elm-trees  above  him,  and  as  the  church 
clock  struck  the  hours  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  great  bell 
were  tolling  for  the  death  of  his  old  life.  "  Gone,  gone, 
gone  !"  it  seemed  to  say.  He  wondered  if  his  whole  future 
was  to  be  passed  now  in  shadow;  whether  the  brightness 
and  light-heartedness  which  had  hitherto  buoyed  him  up 
through  the  slight  troubles  and  disappointments  he  had 
met  with  could  ever  return  to  him.  The  stars  were  shining 
gloriously,  and  from  the  place  where  he  lay  he  could  clearly 
see  Charles's  Wain ;  he  looked  up  at  it,  finding  a  sort  of 
comfort  in  what  for  so  long  had  been  familiar  to  him.  And 
presently  the  dark  sky  and  the  faint  starlight  brought  back 
to  his  mind  the  words  of  the  psalm  which  had  been  sung 
that  evening  in  Shortell  Church.  Was  it  not  possible  even 
now  "  to  triumph  and  rejoice  "  ?  Was  it  not  possible  even 
in  this  distracted  England  to  trust  in  the  eternal "  right  and 
justice  "  of  the  One  who  ruled  all  things,  One  who  in  the 
right  way,  at  the  right  time,  would  disperse  the  clouds  and 
darkness  that  had  gathered?  This  night  of  misrule  and 
oppression  was,  after  all,  only  a  night,  and  even  in  the 
midst  of  it  there  were  not  wanting  many  witnesses,  shining 
forth  like  stars  in  the  surrounding  gloom,  to  remind  all  men 
that  justice  and  truth  and  liberty  were  sacred  and  lasting 
realities,  and  that  the  dawn  must  break. 


With  this  thought  in  his  mind  he  fell  asleep,  and  it  was 
not  until  the  early  morning  that  a  herd  of  deer  passing  by  at 
a  few  yards'  distance  roused  him.  He  started  up  from  his 
bed  of  fern  and  looked  about  him,  the  cavalry  of  his  dream 
resolving  itself  into  the  noble  creatures  with  their  branching 
antlers  and  soft  brown  eyes  and  beautifully  dappled  skin. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  exquisite,  as  at 
sight  of  him  they  bounded  lightly  down  the  soft  green  slope, 
over  which  there  rested  a  white  veil  of  dew.  The  tall  elms 
with  their  masses  of  dark  green  August  foliage  reared  their 
heads  solemnly  into  the  clear  blue  sky;  here  and  there 
fleecy  white  clouds  floated,  and  something  in  the  general 
stillness  and  peace — something,  too,  in  the  balmy  freshness 
of  the  atmosphere  —  made  Joscelyn  for  a  moment  almost 
ready  to  fancy  that  he  had  left  the  world  which  but  last 
night  had  been  so  grievously  at  wrongs,  and  had  waked  in 
Paradise. 

Then,  gradually  coining  to  himself,  a  great  hopefulness 
took  possession  of  him;  the  perfect  morning  seemed  to 
breathe  into  him  a  different  spirit.  True,  strife  and  pain 
and  effort  awaited  the  whole  country,  but  he,  for  one,  would 
ever  keep  before  him  that  ideal  of  the  reign  of  righteous- 
ness after  the  pattern  of  which  all  earthly  governments 
should  as  far  as  possible  strive  to  mould  themselves.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never  before  realized  the  truth 
that,  though  men  may  hinder  and  mar  the  gradual  progress 
of  good,  they  are  unable  to  overcome  it  in  reality,  and  with 
his  whole  heart  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  been  able  to 
give  up  all,  and  to  devote  his  will  to  the  service  of  One  to 
whom  he  owed  more  than  either  to  king  or  father.  Often 
afterwards  he  was  obliged  to  pass  through  times  of  grievous 
depression  and  perplexity,  yet  he  never  lost  for  long  the 
glad  sense  of  working  in  unison  with  a  Higher  Will,  which 
had  first  come  to  him  in  the  beauty  and  peace  of  that  early 


92 

morning  in  Farnham  Park.  A  penniless,  disgraced  exile, 
he  nevertheless  set  forth  with  that  best  of  possessions,  the 
happiness  which  endures  through  sorrow. 

Recollecting  that  both  on  account  of  taking  the  warning 
to  Katterham  and  also  because  pursuit  from  Shortell  was 
still  a  possibility,  he  must  not  linger,  he  started  off  while  it 
was  still  quite  early  and  began  his  walk  along  the  high  ridge 
of  country  known  as  the  Hog's  Back,  to  Guildford.  Then, 
having  rested  for  half  an  hour  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
he  struck  across  country,  and  avoiding  the  neighborhood  of 
his  uncle's  house  at  Bletchingley,  where  his  views  were 
little  likely  to  meet  with  sympathy,  he  mounted  the  wooded 
height  to  which  he  had  directed  his  course. 

The  sun  was  setting,  and  knowing  that  he  was  scarcely  a 
mile  from  Katterham  Court,  he  paused  for  a  minute  or  two 
to  rest  at  the  top  of  the  long  hill.  A  glorious  plain  lay  be- 
neath him,  bounded  in  the  distance  by  three  distinct  chains 
of  downs,  while  to  the  right,  all  flooded  with  a  crimson 
glow,  he  could  see  the  beautiful  outline  of  Leith  Hill.  He 
was  not  sorry  to  think  that  his  day's  work  was  nearly  over, 
and  the  final  tramp  over  the  old  Roman  Stane  Street  seemed 
long  to  him,  but  at  last  the  common  was  crossed,  the  rough 
country  lane  was  ended,  and  the  gates  and  lodge  of  the 
Court-house  rose  before  him  in  the  twilight.  He  rang  and 
was  speedily  admitted,  receiving  a  friendly  greeting  from 
the  gate-keeper.  A  road  bordered  by  a  close  shrubbery  led 
towards  the  house,  and  turning  sharply  to  the  left,  soon 
brought  him  within  sight  of  the  red  brick  mansion,  with  its 
gables  and  picturesque  chimneys  and  moss-grown  roof.  It 
was  with  a  sense  of  keen  pleasure  that  Joscelyn  perceived 
Sir  Robert  Neal  sitting  in  his  elbow-chair  at  the  open  door; 
and  the  old  man,  catching  sight  of  him,  started  up  with  a 
welcome  so  hearty  and  so  kind  that  it  was  no  longer  possi- 
ble for  Joscelyn  to  feel  himself  alone  in  the  world. 


93 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  children  came  running  out, 
delighted  to  see  him  once  more,  and  Clemency  was  sum- 
moned from  the  withdrawing-room,  where  she  sat  with  two 
distant  kinswomen,  Mrs.  Arbella  and  Mrs.  Ursula  Neal, 
who,  through  the  kindness  of  Sir  Robert,  had  for  many 
years  lived  rent  free  in  the  dower-house  hard  by.  Joscelyn, 
who  had  been  describing  to  Sir  Robert  the  way  in  which 
he  had  heard  of  the  possible  attack  on  the  Court-house, 
broke  off  abruptly  as  Clemency  and  the  two  maiden  ladies 
from  the  dower-house  approached,  for  during  his  previous 
visit  he  had  learned  that  Mrs.  Arbella  and  Mrs.  Ursula 
were  stanch  Royalists. 

They  were,  into  the  bargain,  apt  to  regard  ordinary  mem- 
bers of  the  male  sex  with  little  favor,  and  Joscelyn,  though 
sincerely  respecting  them,  somewhat  resented  the  patroniz- 
ing tone  of  Mrs.  Arbella  and  the  seeming  indifference  of 
Mrs.  Ursula.  That  the  latter  should  be  Clemency's  greatest 
friend  puzzled  him  much ;  he  had  not  yet  learned  to  see  the 
unselfish,  devoted  nature,  the  rare  humility,  which  lay  be- 
neath Mrs.  Ursula's  rather  cold  countenance. 

"  Mr.  Heyworth  has  kindly  come  out  of  his  way  to  bring 
me  important  news,"  said  Sir  Robert.  "  By-the-way,  I  hope 
your  horse  is  being  seen  to  ?  Did  one  of  the  men  take  it  ?" 

"  I  came  on  foot,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  coloring  in  a  way 
which  revealed  both  to  Sir  Robert  and  to  Clemency  much 
of  his  story. 

"  On  foot !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arbella,  with  an  expression 
of  strong  disapproval  on  her  comely  though  wrinkled  face. 
"  It  was  extremely  rash  to  walk  such  a  distance  when  your 
injured  knee  is  but  recently  restored !  It  was  absolute 
madness  !" 

"  It  was  necessity,  madam,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  touch 
of  irritation  in  his  voice.  "  As  the  proverb  hath  it,  '  If 
wishes  were  horses  beggars  would  ride ';  but  at  present, 


94 

those  who  are  turned  adrift  on  the  world  with  empty 
pockets  find  wishing  but  an  idle  pastime,  and  must  tramp 
it  as  they  best  may." 

A  kindly  expression  dawned  in  Mrs.  Ursula's  quiet  face. 
Though  far  from  sympathizing  with  the  views  which  Jos- 
celyn  had  adopted,  she  could  not  but  respect  his  courage 
and  regret  his  pain. 

"  I  trust  the  knee  will  be  none  the  worse,"  she  said,  pleas- 
antly. "  But  you  must  be  weary  with  your  journey,  and  I 
think,  sister,"  she  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Arbella,  "that 
we  had  better  make  our  farewells,  or  the  darkness  will  over- 
take us." 

She  wished  Joscelyn  good-night  kindly,  and  gathering  up 
her  black  silk  skirt  in  a  way  which  revealed  a  pair  of  small 
feet  and  shapely  ankles,  prepared  for  the  short  walk  across 
to  the  dower-house. 

Mrs.  Arbella  followed  her,  commenting  as  they  went  in 
her  rapid,  energetic  way  on  the  return  of  Joscelyn  Hey- 
worth.  She  was  a  lady  who  dealt  out  patronizing  judg- 
ments on  the  faults  and  failings  of  mankind  with  extraordi- 
nary volubility.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this,  there  was  something 
lovable  about  her  which  took  the  sting  from  her  most 
sweeping  condemnations. 

"  Oh,  he  is  a  handsome  stripling,  I  grant,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
I'll  warrant  that  he  is  lacking  in  all  reverence  for  authority. 
He  must  be  headstrong,  self-willed,  and  opinionated  to  run 
counter  to  his  home  surroundings  after  this  fashion.  And  I 
am  not  at  all  sure  that  he  has  not  already  an  eye  to  the 
pretty  heiress  and  these  broad  acres,  and  that  his  so-called 
love  of  the  land  is  not  love  of  this  land  we  walk  on.  Doubt- 
less the  important  news  Sir  Robert  mentioned  was  but  an 
excuse  to  get  back  to  the  Court-house." 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula,  "there  I  believe,  sister, 
you  wrong  the  poor  lad.  I  am  persuaded  he  has  too  much 


95 

dignity  and  right  feeling  to  dangle  round  an  heiress.  One 
who  was  capable  of  that  would  not  speak  in  the  tone  he 
used  but  now  of  being  in  the  position  of  the  penniless 
tramp.  In  respect  for  authority  he  may  be  lacking,  but  I 
cannot  credit  him  with  mercenary  thoughts  touching  Clem- 
ency's inheritance." 

"  Poverty  is  a  strong  temptation,"  said  Mrs.  Arbella,  not 
without  a  pathetic  thought  of  the  shabbiness  of  her  sister's 
gown. 

"  Only  to  the  weak,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula,  with  decision ; 
"  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  Mr.  Heyworth  is  strong,  and  does 
not  lack  proper  pride." 

Mrs.  Arbella  was  silent.  Pride  and  poverty  appealed  to 
her,  for  there  was  much  of  both  in  her  own  life. 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  say,"  she  remarked,  as  the  sisters 
entered  their  sparsely  furnished  house,  "that  his  family 
have  done  wisely  in  treating  him  with  such  severity.  How- 
ever mistaken  his  opinions,  it  is  a  dangerous  thing  for  one 
of  his  age  to  be  cast  adrift  without  money,  and  it  is  well 
that  he  has  fallen  in  with  such  a  worthy  man  as  Sir  Robert, 
who  must  be  esteemed  even  by  his  opponents.  As  for  our 
good  kinsman's  political  errors,  why,  he  is  a  man,  and,  like 
all  men,  easily  misled  by  his  own  vain  prejudices.  Had  he 
been  born  a  woman,  now,  I  venture  to  assert  that  he  would 
have  been  as  loyal  to  Church  and  King  as  we  are  our- 
selves." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Heart,  my  heart,  what  is  this  feeling, 
That  doth  weigh  on  thee  so  sore  ? 

What  new  life  art  thou  revealing, 
That  I  know  myself  no  more  ? 

— GOETHE. 

"THE  COURT-HOUSE,  KATTERHAM, 

"Friday  the  12th  August,   1642. 

"  MY  DEAR  FAITH,  —  Your  letter  in  reply  to  the  first  I 
wrote  after  hearing  of  your  safe  arrival  has  just  been  deliv- 
ered to  me  by  your  brother-in-law's  man,  and  since  he  goes 
on  to  London  to-morrow,  and  returns  within  a  week  to 
Gloucester,  I  shall  give  up  the  day  to  writing  you  all  that 
has  passed. 

"  But  first  let  me  tell  you  how  I  rejoice  that  we  can  write 
thus  each  to  each,  as  we  once  talked,  and  that  Christopher 
does  not  demand  a  sight  of  the  letters.  For  as  three  is  dull 
company,  so  also  is  a  correspondence  which  is  enforcedly 
not  betwixt  writer  and  reader,  but  for  a  third  eye  and  mind. 
How  greatly  would  our  chat  weary  him ;  as  much  methinks 
as  the  reading  of  his  letters  on  business  would  weary  us ! 
In  saying  that  the  unity  of  husband  and  wife  does  not 
demand  the  laying  bare  of  the  confidences  of  kinsfolk  or 
friends,  but  best  proves  its  reality  by  its  trust,  he  seems  to 
me  to  show  his  wisdom  and  nobleness,  and  I  feel  able  to 
spare  you  to  him  with  a  less  grudging  heart.  But  oh, 
Faith  !  there  are  times  when  I  feel  sick  for  one  more  sight 
of  you,  and  the  house  is  sorely  changed  by  the  lack  of  your 
voice  and  the  want  of  your  face  ;  indeed,  it  is  scarce  like 
home  any  more.  You  see  how  I  need  you  to  drive  away 


97 

my  doleful  thoughts,  and  I  will  waste  no  more  of  the  paper 
with  idle  repinings,  but  make  the  most  of  this  talk  from 
shire  to  shire,  the  chance  for  which  does  not  come  every 
day.  I  told  you  in  ^my  last  that  Mr.  Joscelyn  Heyworth 
had  through  his  talk  with  Mr.  Hampden  come  to  see  that 
he  could  not,  as  his  father  wished,  serve  in  the  King's 
army.  Well,  he  took  leave  of  us  on  Friday  the  5th,  but  on 
the  Monday  evening  unexpectedly  returned,  much  spent 
with  the  journey  from  Farnham,  which  he  had  made  on 
foot,  and  bringing  with  him  sad  news.  His  parents  had 
taken  his  change  of  views  grievously  to  heart,  had  treated 
him  with  great  severity,  and  he  had  escaped  from  a  sort  of 
home  imprisonment,  making  his  way  to  Katterham  pen- 
niless and  unarmed.  He  had  intended  to  journey  to 
London,  there  to  seek  Mr.  Hampden,  but  at  Farnham  he 
chanced  to  hear  the  intention  of  Mr.  Giles  Graham  and 
others  to  bring  a  force  to  the  attack  of  certain  wealthy 
houses  of  our  county,  and  among  others  of  Katterham 
Court.  Hester  and  the  children  were  not  told  of  it,  for  we 
thought  it  would  but  frighten  them  to  no  good  purpose. 
But  grandfather  let  me  sit  by  whilst  he  and  Nat  Tamplin, 
the  new  steward,  whom  we  all  greatly  like,  talked  till  late 
in  the  evening,  planning  what  steps  had  best  be  taken. 
They  agreed  that  Tamplin  should  order  several  of  the  farm 
men  to  sleep  on  the  premises,  and  as  we  had  but  little 
powder,  it  was  arranged  that  Mr.  Heyworth,  attended  by 
Jack  Morrison,  should  ride  over  to  Croydon  the  next  morn- 
ing at  sunrise  to  bring  back  a  supply,  and  also  to  acquaint 
the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  with  the  plot  he  had  heard. 
None  of  the  servants  but  Charlotte  knew  there  was  any 
danger,  and  she,  dear  soul,  made  light  of  it  lest  I  should 
be  anxious,  though  all  the  same  I  could  see,  when  in  the 
early  morning  she  brought  me  my  bowl  of  new  milk,  that 
her  face  was  careworn  and  as  if  she  had  not  slept. 
7 


98 

"  '  Did  you  think  they  would  murder  us  all  in  our  beds  ?' 
I  asked,  laughing — for  it  was  easy  to  laugh  with  the  dark- 
ness past  and  the  sunshine  streaming  in  at  the  window,  and 
the  lowing  of  the  oxen  and  the  bleating  of  the  sheep  and  the 
singing  of  the  birds  just  as  we  have  heard  it  every  morning 
of  our  lives. 

"  '  I'm  not  thinking  they  would  trouble  us  in  the  house,' 
protested  Charlotte.  '  It's  the  harvest  I'm  thinking  of,  for 
they  do  say  that  foraging  parties  are  wandering  over  the 
country  and  reaping  the  corn  by  stealth  in  the  night,  and 
off  with  it  before  the  owner  is  well  awake,  to  store  the  gar- 
risons.' 

"  But  though  she  made  much  of  the  corn,  I  know  her 
real  care  was  for  us  children;  and,  Faith,  I  truly  think  that 
if  it  had  come  to  it  dear  old  Charlotte  would  have  laid 
down  her  life  to  protect  us  without  so  much  as  a  thought 
that  she  was  doing  anything  unusual.  And  neither  would 
it  have  been  unusual,  for  when  one  thinks  of  it  she  is 
giving  herself  up  to  other  people  and  serving  others  all 
day  and  every  day.  What  should  we  have  been  without 
her! 

"  I  had  just  made  an  end  of  the  house-keeping  and  was 
in  the  garden  with  Monnie  cutting  off  the  withered  roses, 
when  up  came  Original  Smith  with  a  long  face  and  a  long 
story ;  he  had  heard  of  the  report  brought  back  by  Mr. 
Heyworth,  and  saw  fit  to  complain  that  he  had  not  been 
the  one  to  be  sent  over  to  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety. 
Why  did  we  put  so  much  confidence  in  a  stranger,  and  not 
allow  one  who  had  known  us  all  our  lives  to  be  of  service  ? 
I  told  him  it  was  natural  that  Mr.  Heyworth  should  have 
been  chosen  to  go  since  he  was  the  one  who  had  heard  the 
talk  at  Farnham.  To  which  he  made  answer,  '  I  see  you 
prefer  new  friends  to  old,  but  'tis  seldom  they  prove  the 
most  faithful.' 


99 

"  I  said  it  was  not  a  question  of  friendship  at  all,  but  of 
what  grandfather  thought  best  to  arrange,  and  then  to  give 
the  talk  a  turn  asketf  if  the  children  had  been  good  and 
whether  their  lessons  were  done.  He  answered  shortly  and 
went  off  much  in  the  dumps,  and  I  think  I  must  somehow 
have  offended  him,  for  his  manner  has  been  strange  ever 
since.  I  would  not  have  him  think  that  we  do  not  value 
old  friends.  His  father  seems  to  me  as  fine  a  specimen  of 
a  yeoman  as  one  could  wish,  and  his  mother  is  one  of  the 
saints  of  the  earth,  and  though  Original  himself  would  be 
more  to  my  liking  if  he  did  not  crop  his  hair  and  anathema- 
tize all  whose  views  square  not  with  his  own,  yet  I  have  al- 
ways respected  him,  and  he  is  the  best  tutor  the  children 
could  have.  When,  at  eleven  o'clock,  we  met  again  in  the 
hall  at  dinner,  he  was  still  in  his  dumps,  but  of  course  no 
more  could  be  said  because  Hester  and  the  children  were 
present.  In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Heyworth  and  Mr.  Morrison 
rode  back  from  Croydon,  and  with  them  came  Captain  John- 
ston and  half  a  dozen  men,  whom  we  had  to  entertain  as 
best  we  could  for  the  night.  The  children  were  told  that 
they  had  come  to  beat  up  recruits  in  the  neighboring  vil- 
lages, which  was  indeed  true,  and  I  made  a  pretext  to  send 
them  over  to  the  homestead  to  see  the  cows  milked  and  to 
order  Mrs.  Purnell  to  send  over  an  extra  supply.  Then, 
when  they  were  gone,  Captain  Johnston  and  grandfather 
and  Mr.  Heyworth  and  the  new  steward,  Nat  Tamplin, 
went  over  the  house,  and  planned  how  it  had  best  be 
defended  in  case  of  attack,  and  somehow  with  the  coming 
and  going,  and  the  excitement,  and  the  having  so  many 
orders  to  give  as  to  the  food,  I  had  no  time  to  feel  afraid 
until  after  supper  that  night,  when,  having  left  the  men-folk 
talking  with  grandfather  in  the  study,  I  went  up  to  our  bed- 
room, which  seems  lonesome  always  without  you,  though  I 
have  little  Monnie  for  company. 


100 


"  It  was  a  dark,  cloudy  night,  and  when  I  looked  from  the 
window  I  felt  for  the  first  time  afraid  of  the  stillness,  and 
could  have  blessed  Monnie  for  waking  as  she  did  and  beg- 
ging me  to  sing  her  to  sleep  again.  I  shut  the  casement 
and  drew  the  curtain,  still  with  that  sort  of  creeping  terror 
of  what  might  be  out  there  in  the  darkness ;  and  to  feel 
nearer  the  rest  of  the  house  I  set  the  bedroom  door  ajar 
and  felt  a  cowardly  relief  at  hearing  steps  on  the  stair,  and 
knowing  that  either  Mr.  Heyworth  or  Captain  Johnston  must 
have  come  up  to  his  room.  Monnie  kept  saying,  *  Sing,  Clem- 
ency, sing,'  and  as  much  to  comfort  myself  as  to  soothe  her, 
I  began : 

"  'The  Lord  is  both  my  health  and  light, 

Shall  men  make  me  dismay'd? 
Sith  God  doth  give  me  strength  and  might, 
Why  should  I  be  afraid?* 

"  When  I  got  to  the  verse  about  '  My  parents  both  their 
sonne  forsook,'  I  fell  to  thinking  of  Mr.  Heyworth.  It  is 
strange  how  the  Psalms  always  do  fit  in  with  our  life  of  to- 
day, and  that  what  David  said  long  ago  should  be  just  what 
I  wanted  to  say  in  this  seventeenth  century.  But  the  sing- 
ing cheered  me  as  nothing  else  could  have  done,  in  especial 
those  last  verses : 

"  'Teach  me,  O  Lord,  the  way  to  Thee, 

And  lead  me  on  forth  right, 
For  fear  of  such  as  watch  for  me 
To  trap  me  if  they  might. 

'  My  heart  would  faint  but  that  in  me 

This  hope  is  fixed  fast, 
The  Lord  God's  good  grace  shall  I  see 
In  life  that  aye  shall  last. 

*  Trust  then  in  God  whose  whole  thou  art ; 

His  will  abide  thou  must ; 
And  He  shall  ease  and  strength  thy  heart, 
If  thou  on  Him  do  trust.' 


"  WE    BOTH    LISTENED    INTENTLY." 


[Page  101. 


101 

"  Monnie  was  sound  asleep  by  the  time  the  psalm  was 
sung,  and  the  last  words  had  scarcely  left  my  lips  when 
some  one  knocked  from  without ;  throwing  the  door  wider 
open  I  saw  Mr.  Heyworth  standing  there,  and  he,  with  many 
apologies,  asked  me  to  sing  no  longer,  but  to  listen  with  him 
for  a  moment  at  the  open  window  of  the  passage.  I  knelt 
on  the  old  oak  chest,  and  we  both  listened  intently ;  this 
time  there  was  something  more  terrible  than  the  intense 
stillness — the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  on  the  road  from  Wil- 
ley  Farm,  the  quarter  from  which  we  had  fancied  the  enemy 
would  come.  I  think  if  Mr.  Heyworth  had  not  been  so  quiet 
my  fears  would  have  all  returned,  but  if  panic  is  apt  to  prove 
infectious,  so,  I  think,  is  calmness. 

"  *  The  unwelcome  visitors,  if  I  mistake  not,'  he  said. 
'  Sir  Robert  must  be  told.' 

"  We  ran  down-stairs  to  the  study,  where  grandfather  and 
Captain  Johnston  sat  smoking  their  pipes  ;  they  flung  open 
the  side  window,  and  more  clearly  than  ever  we  heard  the 
beat  of  the  horse-hoofs  on  the  road.  I  heard  Captain  John- 
ston discussing  with  Mr.  Heyworth  as  to  how  they  should 
rouse  Tamplin  and  the  men  from  Croydon,  and  how  reach 
Morrison  at  the  gate-house.  Before  it  was  settled,  however, 
grandfather  had  insisted  that  I  should  go  ur>stairs,  and  I 
had  promised  to  stay  in  the  upper  part  of  the  house  and  to 
keep  the  great  oak  door  at  the  head  of  the  front  stairs 
closely  barred.  Having  drawn  both  the  upper  and  lower 
bolts,  I  went  again  to  the  passage  window,  and,  kneeling 
once  more  on  the  chest,  looked  out  into  the  night.  Some 
one  was  let  out  at  the  front  door.  I  supposed  it  was  Cap- 
tain Johnston  going  across  to  the  gate-house ;  and  as  I 
heard  his  steps  crunching  the  gravel  in  the  court-yard  I 
thought  to  myself,  '  If  it  were  a  man  one  cared  for,  how  one 
would  fear  for  his  safety  !'  And  then,  oh,  Faith  !  I  saw  that 
it  was  not  Captain  Johnston  at  all,  but  Mr.  Heyworth,  and 


102 


my  heart  seemed  to  stand  still,  and  when  it  went  on  again 
it  was  no  longer  my  own.  I  saw  him  plainly,  for  the  light 
streamed  out  from  the  open  door  and  shone  upon  his  hair, 
and  though  he  and  Captain  Johnston  are  of  much  the  same 
height,  yet  there  was  no  mistaking  that.  He  was  gone  in  a 
minute,  and  I  was  left  to  look  and  look  till  my  eyes  ached 
at  the  inner  gate  of  the  court,  and  the  two  pillars  with  their 
round  balls,  and  to  listen  in  an  agony  to  the  horrible  tramp 
coming  steadily  nearer  and  nearer.  I  do  not  know  how  the 
time  went ;  I  heard  the  front  door  being  locked  and  bolted, 
and  steps  hurrying  hither  and  thither,  and  after  a  while 
Charlotte  came  and  insisted  on  closing  the  casement  and 
fastening. the  shutters,  though  I  begged  hard  to  keep  watch 
still.  She  would  not  hear  of  it;  yet  when  the  horsemen 
seemed  actually  to  be  just  outside  the  court-yard  her  anxi- 
ety for  grandfather  got  the  better  of  her,  and  she  let  me  un- 
fasten the  bolts  of  the  oak  door,  and  stole  quietly  down- 
stairs to  see  how  matters  were  going.  I  waited  with  the 
door  partly  open,  straining  my  ears  to  hear  what  passed. 
There  were  steps  on  the  gravel,  and  then  a  loud  knocking 
at  the  front  door.  I  heard  Charlotte  and  grandfather 
speaking  together,  and  then  the  grille  was  opened,  and 
grandfather  asked  :  *  Who  is  there  ?  And  why  do  you  seek 
admittance  at  this  hour  of  the  night  ?' 

"'Open,  in  the  King's  name,'  was  the  summons  from 
without. 

"  *  I  refuse  to  open,'  said  grandfather,  with  a  ring  in  his 
voice  which  made  it  sound  like  the  voice  of  a  young  man. 

" '  We  have  forces  here  enough  to  storm  your  house  and 
burn  it  about  your  ears,  said  the  voice  from  without. 
*  Open,  in  the  King's  name,  and  yield  your  arms  and  your 
plate  in  the  King's  service.' 

"  For  all  answer  grandfather  sharply  closed  the  grille. 

"  The  spokesman  had  scarcely  moved  a  couple  of  steps 


io3 

on  the  gravel  when  I  heard  a  gun  fired  and  another  and 
another,  and  in  my  sickening  anxiety  to  know  how  matters 
were  going  I  think  I  niust  have  broken  my  word  and  thrown 
back  the  shutters  to  look  out,  or  even  run  down-stairs  to 
grandfather,  had  not  Monnie  waked  with  a  cry  of  terror ; 
and,  fastening  the  bolts  of  the  door  again,  I  ran  back  to  my 
room,  and  sat  on  the  bed  beside  her  singing  the  psalm 
through  once  more,  and  as  lustily  as  I  could,  that  my  voice 
might  drown  the  sound  of  the  guns  and  the  cries  and  shouts 
from  without.  I  thought  my  brain  must  have  given  way 
with  the  strain  of  the  fearful  anxiety  for  those  without,  and 
for  grandfather  below  and  for  all  the  children,  when  one  re- 
membered that  hateful  threat  of  firing  the  house.  Yet  there 
were  times  when  I  knew  that  One  was  soothing  me  much 
as  I  soothed  Monnie,  and  stilling  the  storm  of  fears  that 
again  and  again  tried  to  rise  in  my  heart.  After  what 
seemed  a  long  time  the  firing  ceased  and  the  shouts  and 
cries  died  down  to  a  confused  murmur,  and  Gyp  and  Rover, 
who  had  been  barking  furiously,  grew  less  excited.  To  my 
relief  Monnie  fell  asleep  too,  and,  hearing  steps  ascending, 
I  went  to  unbolt  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  yet 
paused  for  a  moment  in  deadly  terror  at  the  thought  that 
the  quiet  without  might  after  all  mean  our  defeat,  and  that 
the  footsteps  might  be  those  of  the  enemy. 

" '  Who  is  there  ?'  I  cried,  as  some  one  knocked  ;  and  the 
answer  came  back  in  a  clear  ringing  voice,  *  It  is  I,  Jos- 
celyn  Heyworth.'  Then  I  flung  back  the  door,  and  in  one 
breath  we  both  cried,  'Are  you  safe?'  and  there  and  then 
I  felt  thankful  that  Hal  was  not  by  to  cry  out,  as  he  as- 
suredly would  have  done,  *  Hook  fingers  and  wish,  for  you 
spoke  the  same  words.' 

"  I  seem  still  to  feel  his  hands  grasping  mine,  still  to  see 
his  eyes  striving,  as  they  did  that  night,  to  read  my  very 
soul.  Oh,  Faith  !  tell  me,  is  it  my  fancy  that  he  had  feared 


104 

for  me  as  I  feared  for  him — that  to  him,  too,  it  had  been  a 
night  of  revelation  ? 

"  We  went  down  to  the  entrance-hall,  and  there  I  heard 
how  the  enemy  had  ignominiously  retreated,  being  utterly 
surprised  and  routed  by  a  sudden  attack  made  from  the 
shelter  of  the  nut-trees  beside  the  bowling-green  by  Cap- 
tain Johnston  and  his  men.  Mr.  Heyworth  and  Morrison, 
with  some  of  the  farm  men  who  had  been  sleeping  in  the 
gate-house,  followed  up  the  advantage  and  pressed  them 
hard  from  the  other  side,  and  having  doubtless  expected  to 
find  us  unprepared  with  any  defence,  they  were  the  more 
easily  disheartened  and  repulsed.  Several  were  wounded, 
among  others  young  Sir  Andrew  Grey,  who  this  time  last 
year,  you  remember,  asked  grandfather  for  my  hand  in  mar- 
riage, and  was  for  many  months  one  of  my  most  wearisome 
and  importunate  servants.  Methinks  Original  Smith  is 
wrong,  and  that  new  friends  are  sometimes  more  desirable 
than  old !  Morrison  got  a  slight  cut  on  the  head,  which, 
however,  has  only  enamoured  him  of  war  and  fighting,  and 
two  of  Captain  Johnston's  men  were  hurt,  yet  not  severely. 
Charlotte  made  much  of  them  and  bandaged  their  wounds, 
and  we  had  a  second  supper  somewhere  in  the  small  hours 
of  the  night,  at  which  I  felt  merrier  far  than  at  your  wedding- 
feast,  so  great  was  the  relief  after  the  fears  of  the  evening. 

"  But  now  we  are  sober  and  sad  enough.  There  is  not 
much  fear  that  the  house  will  be  attacked  again,  and  Kat- 
terham  being  off  the  main  road  we  do  not  hear  much  of 
what  is  passing,  and  Mr.  Heyworth  started  yesterday  at  sun- 
rise for  London. 

"  There  must  be  thunder  in  the  air,  or  else  I  am  going  to 
be  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  spleen,  for  there  seems  an  intol- 
erable weight  on  everything;  I  must  write  no  more, but  take 
the  dogs  and  go  to  Whitehill  and,  as  Charlotte  would  say, 
blow  the  cobwebs  from  my  brain  with  the  fresh  air  from  the 


downs.  Do  an  you  love  me  write  ere  long.  Oh,  Faith,  why 
do  half  a  dozen  men  for  whom  one  cares  naught  protest  that 
they  are  ready  to  die  for  you,  while  one  other  man  witches 
the  very  heart  out  of  you  without  so  much  as  a  '  By  your 
leave,'  and  rides  off  to  the  wars  with  never  a  word  but  just 
'  Farewell '  ?  In  truth  I  fare  anything  but  well,  yet  could 
beat  myself  for  acknowledging  it  even  to  you.  Burn  this 
when  read.  And,  dear  Faith,  write  soon. 

"  I  am  your  affectionate  sister, 

"  CLEMENCY  CORITON. 

"POSTSCRIPT. — Charlotte  hopes  you  do  not  over -weary 
yourself  with  your  new  household.  All  here  are  well,  and 
grandfather  has  suffered  no  ill  effects  from  the  commotion 
of  Tuesday  night." 


CHAPTER   IX 

Not  stirring  words,  nor  gallant  deeds  alone, 

Plain  patient  Work  fulfilled  that  length  of  life  ; 

Duty,  not  Glory — Service,  not  a  Throne, 
Inspired  his  effort,  set  for  him  the  strife. 

— CLOUGH. 

JACK  MORRISON  had,  as  Clemency  expressed  it,  become 
so  enamoured  of  fighting  from  his  brief  experience  during 
the  attack  on  Katterham  Court,  that  the  very  next  day  he 
had  asked  Sir  Robert's  permission  to  join  the  Parliamentary 
troops.  In  the  end  it  had  been  arranged  that  he  should  ac- 
company Joscelyn,  for  Sir  Robert  insisted  on  furnishing  his 
guest  with  horse,  arms,  money,  and  all  necessaries,  overcom- 
ing Joscelyn's  scruples  by  making  much  of  the  service  he 
had  been  to  them  as  a  protector.  Morrison,  a  sturdy  fellow 
of  five-and-twenty,  broad-shouldered,  sinewy,  and  of  Scotch 
descent,  promised  to  be  a  first-rate  soldier,  and  was  already 
as  good  a  groom  and  servant  as  could  be  wished  for ;  more- 
over, he  had  become  much  attached  to  Joscelyn,  whose  gift 
of  winning  hearts  stood  him  now  in  good  stead.  Morrison 
wondered  a  little  at  his  silence  and  his  grave  set  face  as 
they  rode  to  London  ;  he  himself  was  full  of  excitement  at 
the  prospect  of  the  new  life  which  was  that  day  to  begin, 
and  had  no  suspicion  that  his  new  master  had  received  a 
far  more  serious  wound  during  the  attack  on  that  Tuesday 
night  than  his  own  insignificant  sword-cut. 

But  Joscelyn  as  he  rode  saw  nothing  of  the  landscape, 
thought  nothing  of  the  war.  He  saw  instead  a  staircase  with 
a  half -opened  door  at  the  head  of  it,  and  a  slight,  white- 
robed  figure  with  chestnut  curls  against  a  white  neck  and 


round  white  throat.  He  saw  a  face  of  loveliest  outline,  and 
hazel  eyes  whose  glance  changed  from  consuming  anxiety 
to  rapturous  relief,  eyes  which  seemed  but  the  windows 
from  which  a  spirit  of  purity  and  love  looked  forth. 

And  now,  after  the  manner  of  lovers,  he  alternated  be- 
tween joy  and  pain,  at  one  moment  ready  to  deem  that  brief 
meeting  of  soul  with  soul  enough  to  content  him  for  years, 
at  another  distracted  at  the  thought  of  the  hopeless  gulf 
which  separated  them,  and  counting  it  the  most  cruel  turn 
of  fortune's  wheel  that  he  should  have  been  robbed  of  home 
and  kindred,  and  then  as  a  penniless  tramp  should  have 
fallen  in  love  with  the  best,  the  most  beautiful,  and — as  ill- 
luck  would  have  it — the  richest  girl  in  Surrey.  He  wondered 
whether,  had  he  foreseen  this,  he  could  have  adopted  so  un- 
flinchingly the  course  of  conduct  which  had  cost  him  his 
inheritance,  but  was  glad  that  on  reflection  he  honestly 
could  feel  that  even  had  he  known  all  that  lay  before  him, 
love  of  Clemency  could  not  have  induced  him  to  temporize. 
The  bare  thought  of  it  was  intolerable.  As  it  was,  the  only 
course  he  could  rightly  take  was  that  of  honorable  silence. 
Yet  the  prospect  was  far  from  cheerful,  and  accounted  fully 
enough  for  the  gravity  of  expression  which  had  surprised 
his  servant.  He  went  to  offer  his  services  to  his  country 
without  Morrison's  gay  alacrity,  but  soberly  and  thought- 
fully, having  counted  the  cost,  and  deliberately  chosen  to 
sacrifice  himself.  They  rode  straight  to  Mr.  Hampden's 
London  house,  where  Joscelyn  asked  to  deliver  in  person  a 
letter  from  Sir  Robert  Neal.  Learning,  however,  that  the 
member  for  the  County  of  Buckingham  was  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  Joscelyn  dismounted,  leaving  Morrison  to 
take  the  horses  to  the  nearest  inn,  and  made  his  way  past 
the  Abbey,  the  towers  of  which  were  plainly  seen  in  the 
distance  enclosed,  as  in  a  frame,  by  the  high  gabled  houses. 

Crossing  Palace  Yard,  where  several  coaches  and  sedans 


io8 


were  in  waiting,  he  entered  Westminster  Hall,  and  was 
making  his  way  past  the  stalls  where  booksellers  and  mil- 
liners vied  with  each  other  in  trying  to  tempt  customers  with 
the  latest  pamphlet  or  the  newest  thing  in  gloves  and  rib- 
bons, when  he  was  accosted  by  one  of  his  old  Cambridge 
companions. 

"  Why,  Heyworth,"  exclaimed  his  friend,  "  what  are  you 
doing  here  among  the  lawyers  ?  I  thought  you  had  started 
on  the  grand  tour  ?" 

"  I  am  passing  through  London,  and  am  charged  with  a 
letter  for  Mr.  Hampden,"  explained  Joscelyn. 

"  What,  old  Ship-money  ?"  replied  his  friend.  "  I  saw  him 
pass  into  the  House  but  now.  Folk  say  some  report  will 
be  made  upon  the  late  doings  at  Cambridge.  Come  and 
let  us  see  if  we  can  get  into  one  of  the  galleries  and  hear 
the  rights  of  the  business." 

The  two  passed  through  the  entrance  leading  from  West- 
minster Hall  to  the  House  of  Commons,  the  door  which 
then  as  now  was  usually  employed  by  members  of  Parlia- 
ment. Not  without  heart-stirring  emotion  and  a  thrill  of 
excitement  Joscelyn  glanced  round  the  plainly  fitted  room 
where,  of  late,  scenes  of  such  absorbing  interest  had  been 
enacted.  He  was  amazed  to  find  a  place  of  such  vast  im- 
portance so  small  and  insignificant.  The  wainscoted  walls 
were  unadorned  by  tapestry  or  hangings  of  any  sort;  the 
galleries  at  the  sides  and  at  the  west  end  rested  on  plain 
iron  pillars  with  ugly  gilt  capitals ;  there  was  a  wide  open 
space  in  the  centre  of  the  House  flanked  by  rows  of  uncom- 
fortable-looking seats  for  the  members,  and  some  way  from 
the  wall,  surmounted  by  the  royal  arms,  was  the  Speaker's 
chair,  the  only  richly  decorated  object  in  the  place. 

It  was  not  a  very  full  House,  for  many  of  the  members 
were  absent  in  their  respective  counties  furthering  the  prep- 
arations for  the  war.  Joscelyn  soon  descried  Hampden, 


io9 

and  as  he  looked  down  at  the  noble  face  and  lofty  brow  of 
the  patriot  he  felt  once  more  that  he  was  indeed  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  greatest  man  of  the  day.  Pym,  with  his  vigor- 
ous intellect  and  shrewd  astuteness,  might  be  the  more 
practical  statesman  of  the  two,  but  there  was  a  breadth,  a 
completeness,  a  geniality  about  Hampden  which  was  not 
even  approached  by  any  other  leader  of  those  times. 

To  the  satisfaction  of  the  two  Cambridge  graduates,  they 
were  in  time  to  hear  the  member  for  Aldborough,  Sir  Philip 
Stapleton,  one  of  the  Committee  for  Defence  of  the  King- 
dom, make  his  report.  It  appeared  that  Mr.  Cromwell  had 
taken  possession  of  the  magazine  in  the  castle  at  Cambridge, 
and  had  hindered  the  carrying  away  the  plate  from  that 
university,  "which,  as  some  report,  was  to  the  value  of 
^"20,000  or  thereabouts." 

When  the  House  adjourned,  Joscelyn,  taking  leave  of 
his  companion,  made  all  speed  to  deliver  his  letter,  and 
overtook  Hampden  just  as  he  had  entered  Westminster 
Hall. 

"  So  you  have  come,"  said  the  patriot,  grasping  his  hand 
with  a  warmth  of  welcome  which  made  the  young  man's 
heart  bound.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  been  expecting 
you,  for  I  had  not  much  doubt  which  way  your  studies 
would  lead  an  unbiased  mind." 

He  paused  for  a  minute,  hastily  reading  Sir  Robert's  let- 
ter, and  gathering  from  it  the  facts  of  Joscelyn's  story. 

"  You  must  be  my  guest,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  within 
Joscelyn's  as  they  walked  down  the  Hall  to  the  great  door- 
way. "  Is  it  true  that  you  have  a  special  wish  to  be  in  my 
regiment  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  eagerly ;  "  let  me  be  but  with 
you  and  I  will  be  content  to  be  a  private,  a  servant — what 
you  will." 

"You  shall  carry  our  colors,"  said  Hampden.     "It  so 


no 

happens  that  young  Wilmot,  our  ensign,  or  cornet,  has  been 
forced  to  send  in  his  resignation  owing  to  ill-health.  To- 
morrow you  and  I  will  ride  down  to  Buckinghamshire  to- 
gether, and  you  shall  begin  work  in  good  earnest.  But  al- 
ready, Sir  Robert  tells  me,  you  have  been  under  fire.  I 
hope  the  children  and  pretty  Mistress  Clemency  suffered  no 
ill  effects  ?  She  is  a  brave  maid,  but  over-delicate  for  times 
like  these." 

"  She  is  brave  indeed,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  I  asked  her 
what  she  did  during  the  attack,  and  she  made  answer,  very 
simply,  *  I  sang  to  Monnie  very  loud  and  cheerfully  lest  she 
should  be  frightened  by  the  firing.' " 

Something  in  his  voice  made  Hampden  glance  at  him 
searchingly,  and  the  heightened  color  in  his  face  and  the 
light  in  his  eyes  told  their  own  tale.  The  statesman  smiled 
a  little,  but  sighed  too,  thinking  to  himself  that  "war,  death, 
and  sickness "  would  but  too  probably  turn  this  opening 
love-tale  to  a  tragedy.  His  face  grew  sad  as  they  left  the 
Hall  and  walked  together  to  his  house. 

"  The  true  spirit  of  womanhood  breathes  in  those  words 
of  hers,"  he  said.  "  How  many  wives  and  mothers  and  sis- 
ters will  try  their  best  to  sing  '  very  loud  and  cheerfully '  for 
the  sake  of  those  they  love !  God  grant  this  war  may  be 
sharp  and  short— not  a  protracted  struggle  !" 

"Have  there  been  many  of  these  attacks  on  private 
houses,  sir  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  I  have  heard  of  some  on  either  side,"  replied  Hampden. 
"  Indeed,  I  myself  was  concerned  in  one  but  a  short  time 
since.  We  were  mustering  the  Buckinghamshire  and  Ox- 
fordshire men  on  Chalgrove  field,  when  word  was  sent  us 
by  Mr.  Whitelocke  that  the  Earl  of  Berkshire  with  a  con- 
siderable following  of  gentlemen  had  come  to  Watlington 
to  make  proclamation  for  troops  in  the  King's  name  under 
the  Commission  of  Array.  So  we  left  the  bulk  of  the  levies 


Ill 


still  on  Chalgrove,  and  set  off  promptly  with  a  company  of 
my  own  regiment  and  a  troop  of  Goodwyn's  horse.  The 
commissioners,  however,  got  wind  of  the  muster  and  re- 
tired in  consternation  to  Ascott,  took  refuge  in  Sir  Robert 
Dormer's  house,  pulled  up  the  drawbridge,  and  stood  upon 
their  defence.  I  verily  think  they  fancied  the  moat  with 
the  stout  walls  of  the  house  and  a  few  shots  they  fired  from 
within  would  scare  us  away;  but  as  soon  as  they  saw  us 
making  ready  for  the  assault  they  yielded  upon  quarter,  and 
the  earl  and  Sir  John  Curzon  and  three  of  the  chief  com- 
missioners were  sent  prisoners  to  London.  This,  I  take  it, 
with  our  success  at  Oxford,  will  leave  us  unmolested  in  get- 
ting matters  forward  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  has,  I  am 
told,  greatly  vexed  and  disconcerted  the  Royalists." 

The  evening  passed  by  only  too  quickly  for  Joscelyn,  who 
was  intensely  interested  by  the  glimpse  it  afforded  him  into 
the  busy  life  of  Hampden,  with  its  countless  demands  for 
help,  counsel,  orders,  and  directions.  Like  all  really  great 
men,  he  had  the  capacity  for  taking  infinite  pains,  and  his 
way  of  making  time  to  help  other  people  was  very  remark- 
able. With  all  the  cares  of  his  double  position  as  soldier 
and  statesman  thronging  upon  him,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
private  anxieties,  he  nevertheless  contrived  to  throw  him- 
self heart  and  soul  into  the  affairs  of  his  protege,  and  the 
next  day,  during  their  ride  to  Buckinghamshire,  learned  both 
the  strong  and  the  weak  points  of  Joscelyn's  character. 

Friendship  is  generally  the  result  of  a  certain  similarity  of 
taste  between  two  natures,  or  of  a  very  striking  contrast. 
In  this  case  it  was  the  similarity  of  disposition  which  drew 
into  close  relationship  the  middle-aged  leader  of  men  and 
the  young  ensign  who  had  just  made  his  first  perilous  plunge 
into  independent  life.  Perhaps,  too,  it  was  the  lad's  solitari- 
ness which  made  Hampden  treat  him  in  so  fatherly  a  fash- 
ion. For  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  Joscelyn  was  one 


112 


of  those  who  stand  in  special  need  of  the  presence  of  a 
companion  whom  they  can  revere.  Genial  by  nature  and 
keenly  appreciating  the  popularity  which  he  usually  evoked, 
there  was  yet  in  him  a  vein  of  strong  reserve;  cut  off  from 
a  wise  sympathy,  he  might  either  develop  into  a  self-con- 
tained, stern  man,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  might  neglect  the 
higher  side  of  his  nature,  and  fall  a  prey  to  the  love  of 
pleasing  and  the  love  of  pleasure,  which  unless  held  in 
check  might  altogether  wreck  his  life. 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  Chiltern  Hills  and  the 
welcome  shade  of  the  green  beech  woods  of  Buckingham- 
shire, the  two  were  better  known  to  each  other  than  many 
people  find  themselves  after  years  of  intercourse.  A  per- 
ception that  at  twenty  he  had  been  much  like  his  young 
companion  gave  Hampden  the  clew  to  Joscelyn's  thoughts 
and  feelings,  and  with  all  the  rare  tact  and  the  gentle  kindli- 
ness of  his  noble  nature  he  set  himself  to  help  in  every 
possible  way. 

It  was  not  till  the  cool  of  the  evening  that  they  entered 
the  park  and  came  into  sight  of  Hampden  House.  The 
setting  sun  lighted  up  the  somewhat  gloomy  battlemented 
walls  and  the  heavy  mullioned  windows,  and  made  the  old 
red  brickwork  glow  with  that  warm  mellow  color  which  the 
most  skilful  of  artists  cannot  reproduce.  To  the  left  stood 
a  square-towered  church,  and  the  shade  of  sadness  that  had 
passed  over  Hampden's  face  was  quickly  chased  away  by  a 
glad  cry  which  greeted  him  from  the  church-yard. 

"  Father  !  father  !"  exclaimed  a  chorus  of  voices.  And, 
looking  round,  the  riders  saw  a  pretty  group  of  girls  and 
boys,  the  younger  members  of  Colonel  Hampden's  family 
by  his  first  wife.  In  a  minute  they  had  flocked  out  into  the 
road  with  the  spontaneous  demonstrative  welcome  which 
children  only  know  how  to  give,  and  Hampden,  dismount- 
ing, stooped  to  embrace  them  with  less  ceremony  and  more 


eager  warmth  than  the  stiff  conventionality  of  those  times 
usually  permitted. 

Joscelyn  looked  with  special  interest  at  the  two  youngest 
children,  Richard  and  William,  auburn-haired,  bright-faced 
boys  of  eleven  and  nine,  who  were  besieging  their  father 
with  eager  petitions. 

"  Let  me  lead  your  horse  to  the  stable,  sir,  do  let  me  ?" 
cried  Richard. 

"  I  could,  father,  I  truly  could,"  pleaded  the  little  one. 

"  Come,  there  is  a  horse  apiece  for  you,"  said  Hampden. 
"Let  Will  take  Mr.  Heyworth's.  This  is  my  daughter 
Ruth,  Mr.  Heyworth,  and  this  is  Judith,  and  this  Mary." 

The  three  maidens  greeted  him  charmingly,  having  in- 
herited much  of  their  father's  genial  and  kindly  nature;  the 
little  twelve  -  year  -  old  Mary  specially  delighted  Joscelyn, 
perhaps  because  in  height  and  bearing  she  much  resembled 
Rosamond.  She  seemed  also  to  have  rather  a  special  place 
in  her  father's  heart,  being  the  youngest  girl,  and  bearing 
the  name  of  another  little  daughter  who  had  died  years  be- 
fore in  infancy. 

Judith  ran  on  to  the  house  to  announce  her  father's  arri- 
val, so  that  when  they  reached  the  old  porch,  with  its  stone 
shield  bearing  the  cross  and  eagles  of  the  Hampdens,  the 
Lady  Letitia,  Hampden's  second  wife,  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  steps  to  welcome  them,  and  beside  her  one  of  the  mar- 
ried daughters,  Anne,  and  her  husband,  Sir  Robert  Pye. 

The  house,  which  dated  back  to  the  time  of  King  John, 
had  a  delightful  air  of  antiquity  about  it,  while  many  addi- 
tions and  restorations,  made  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  added 
greatly  to  its  comfort  as  a  dwelling-place.  Owing  to  the 
troubled  times,  there  had  been  of  late  very  few  guests  at 
Hampden  House,  but  this  perhaps  served  to  make  it  all  the 
more  peaceful  and  homelike.  Indeed,  as  Joscelyn  sat  that 
night  at  supper  in  the  old  hall,  and  listened  to  the  family 


H4 

talk,  he  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  so  calm  and  restful  a 
bit  of  life  was  being  lived  in  the  midst  of  divided  England. 
The  supper  table,  with  its  silver  candlesticks,  made  a  little 
oasis  of  light  in  the  dim  vast  hall;  faint  features  gleamed 
out  in  ghostly  fashion  from  the  portraits  hanging  upon  the 
wainscoted  walls ;  the  heavy  balustrades  of  the  galleries 
which  ran  around  the  place  on  all  sides  were  revealed  by 
four  small  lamps  at  each  corner,  while  from  the  gallery 
above  the  entrance  some  one  made  soft  music  on  the  organ 
which  had  lately  been  built  there.  Never  surely  had  there 
been  an  interval  so  quiet — a  pause  so  strangely  peaceful  in 
the  heart  of  a  storm ! 

The  next  morning,  after  a  turn  in  the  park,  Hampden 
took  Joscelyn  into  the  brick  parlor,  a  small  snug  room  open- 
ing by  a  Gothic  doorway  into  the  dining-hall ;  its  square 
windows  looked  upon  a  sunny  pleasance  called  King  John's 
Garden,  laid  out  with  rose-bushes  and  fountains. 

"  One  would  fain  see  from  here  that  vista  through  the 
beech-trees  which  you  showed  me  from  the  park,  sir,"  said 
Joscelyn. 

Hampden  leaned  his  arms  on  the  window-sill  for  a  minute, 
and  a  smile  played  on  his  lips  as  he  looked  forth  at  the  roses. 

"  We  owe  that  view  to  Queen  Elizabeth,"  he  said.  "  She 
stayed  here  once,  and  with  excellent  judgment  remarked  to 
my  grandfather  how  vastly  the  place  would  be  improved  by 
a  vista  cut  through  the  beeches.  That  very  night  all  the 
retainers  were  summoned  by  my  grandfather,  and  in  the 
morning  when  the  Queen  rose,  behold,  the  avenue  was  cut." 

"That  showed  great  devotion  to  the  Queen,"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  You  see  we  are,  after  all,  no  disloyal  family,"  said 
Hampden,  laughing,  "  but  can  sacrifice  noble  beeches  for 
such  a  ruler  as  Good  Queen  Bess,  though  refusing  to  pay 
thirty -one  shillings  and  sixpence  to  King  Charles  for  an 
unjust  tax." 


"5 

"And  yet  surely,  sir,  by  resisting,  you  were  more  truly 
serving  the  King  than  those  who  encouraged  the  tyranny  ?" 

"  In  truth  I  think  so,"  said  Hampden.  "  It  was  in  this 
very  room,  by-the-bye,  that  they  summoned  me.  'Tis  no 
fiction  that  those  on  our  side  fight  .for  King  and  Parliament. 
But  'tis  true  that  we  war  to  the  death  against  the  false  no- 
tion of  the  sovereign's  divine  right  to  govern  wrong.  Ever 
since  the  time  of  the  coronation,  when  Laud  tried  to  alter 
the  form  of  the  King's  engagement  by  leaving  out  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  legislative  power  of  Parliament  and 
attempting  to  put  in  the  phrase,  l salvo  prerogative  regalij 
there  has  been  a  steady  conspiracy  to  destroy  the  liberties 
of  the  English  people.  Every  effort  at  a  peaceable  settling 
of  the  matter  having  failed,  there  is  nothing  for  it  now  but 
war.  You  and  I  are  happy  in  having  a  chance  of  serving 
in  the  cause  of  justice,  in  offering  our  lives  for  the  safe- 
guarding of  the  country's  freedom." 

Joscelyri  remembered  the  vista  through  the  beech-trees, 
and  thought  of  the  destruction  that  had  been  necessary  to 
open  out  the  wider  view,  and  Hampden's  words,  "offering 
our  lives  for  the  country's  freedom,"  returned  to  him  with  a 
force  and  significance  and  breadth  of  meaning  indescribable. 
He  looked  back  into  the  study  and  thought  of  all  that  had 
passed  there,  and  he  looked  at  the  patriot  himself.  There 
are  some  scenes  which,  without  any  apparent  reason,  fix 
themselves  indelibly  on  the  memory,  and  to  the  end  of  his 
life  Joscelyn  could  always  call  up  a  distinct  vision  of  Hamp- 
den's look  and  bearing  as  he  stood  opposite  him  that  August 
morning,  his  thoughtful  eyes  full  of  light  and  animation,  his 
winning  face  aglow  with  earnestness,  his  long  waving  hair 
stirred  by  the  breeze  which  came  through  the  open  case- 
ment, and  his  hand  laid  caressingly  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
little  daughter  Mary  who  had  stolen  up  to  him. 

During  the  next  week  Joscelyn  found  his  time  fully  occu- 


u6 


pied  ;  his  host  put  him  to  the  study  of  D'Avila's  history  of 
the  civil  wars  in  France — a  work  which  was  popularly  termed 
"Colonel  Hampden's  Prayer- Book,"  as  it  was  so  great  a 
favorite  with  him  that  he  never  travelled  without  it.  Then, 
too,  a  great  part  of  each  day  was  spent  in  drilling  and  active 
preparation  for  the  war,  while  old  Madam  Hampden,  the 
patriot's  mother,  loved  to  talk  with  him  about  her  son,  and 
the  children  were  always  ready  to  dance  attendance  on  him 
when  he  was  disengaged.  At  length  the  day  came  on  which 
the  regiment  was  to  march.  Joscelyn,  clad  in  his  green  uni- 
form, with  the  tawny  orange  scarf  worn  by  the  Parliamen- 
tarians, and  proudly  bearing  in  his  hand  the  regimental 
colors,  felt  that  now  at  last  the  work  of  his  life  had  begun. 
A  crowd  of  country  people,  and  many  of  the  more  wealthy 
neighbors,  gathered  to  see  the  soldiers  as  they  set  out  on 
their  march  to  Northampton,  at  which  place  Hampden  was 
to  take  the  command.  Accompanying  the  infantry  and  some 
guns  was  a  cavalry  regiment,  under  the  command  of  Hamp- 
den's colleague,  Arthur  Goodwin,  and  all  the  on -lookers 
cheered  them  as  they  mustered  in  the  park. 

Joscelyn1  s  heart  beat  high  as  the  inspiriting  sound  fell  on 
his  ears,  yet  a  great  sadness  stole  over  him  as  he  watched 
his  leader.  The  colonel's  face  was  pale  and  stern,  for  his 
heart  was  wrung  by  the  painful  farewells  he  had  just  made, 
but  his  voice  rang  out  clear  and  strong  when  he  gave  the 
word  to  advance,  bidding  the  men  sing  the  i2ist  Psalm  as 
they  marched.  And  to  these  words  the  Parliamentarians 
set  forth.  Joscelyn  took  one  glance  back  at  the  battle- 
mented  walls  of  Hampden  House,  and  at  the  peaceful 
church  and  church-yard  ;  then  he  looked  up  at  the  blue  flag 
which  he  bore  and  thought  of  the  words  inscribed  on  it — 
upon  one  side  Hampden's  own  motto,  "Vestigia  nulla  re- 
trorsum"  on  the  other  the  motto  of  the  whole  Parliamentary 
army,  "  God  with  us." 


CHAPTER    X 

Let  Liberty,  the  chartered  right  of  Englishmen, 
Won  by  our  fathers  on  many  a  glorious  field, 
Enerve  my  soldiers. — BLAKE. 

A  TIME  of  waiting  and  preparation  always  seems  long, 
and  to  Joscelyn  those  summer  days  at  Northampton 
seemed  endless.  The  suspense  was  most  trying  to  all,  and 
the  anxiety  and  the  great  heat  made  both  men  and  offi- 
cers irritable.  They  were  longing  to  test  their  strength,  to  be 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  enemy,  to  strike  an  effective 
blow  for  the  cause  on  whose  behalf  they  had  risked  so 
much.  Joscelyn  began  to  wonder  whether,  after  all,  they 
would  be  cheated  out  of  their  share  in  the  struggle,  and 
left  to  defend  a  place  which  would  never  be  attacked. 
Like  most  people  in  England,  he  fancied  that  one  great 
battle  would  decide  the  whole  war,  and  he  felt  that  to 
have  lost  all  for  the  cause  and  then  to  be  denied  a  share 
in  the  actual  conflict  would  be  intolerable.  The  novelty 
of  military  life  wore  off  in  a  few  days,  and  in  itself  per- 
haps it  was  the  very  last  life  he  would  have  chosen;  it 
was  actual  and  effective  service  for  which  he  craved,  and 
an  intense  restlessness  consumed  him  as  night  after  night 
passed  and  found  him  still  in  the  lodging  which  he  shared 
with  two  of  his  brother  officers  in  the  Northampton  market- 
place. Rumors  of  the  King's  doings  at  Nottingham  had 
of  course  reached  them,  but  it  was  not  till  early  in  Sep- 
tember that  they  heard  from  an  eye  -  witness  what  had 
passed. 

It  chanced  one  evening  that  Joscelyn  was  sitting  with 


Hampden,  acting,  as  he  was  often  allowed  to  do,  as  the 
colonel's  private  secretary,  when  a  servant  knocked  at  the 
door  to  ask  whether  Mr.  John  Hutchinson  could  be  ad- 
mitted. The  colonel  gave  orders  that  he  should  be  shown 
up  at  once. 

"  'Tis  a  son  of  the  member  for  the  County  of  Notting- 
ham—  Sir  Thomas  Hutchinson,"  he  remarked.  "I  trust 
he  has  come  to  join  us." 

Joscelyn,  looking  up,  saw  a  very  well  dressed  man  of 
about  six  -  and  -  twenty,  of  medium  height  and  fair  com- 
plexion, with  an  unusual  amount  of  long  light-brown  hair, 
and  a  pair  of  keen  gray  eyes  which  seemed  in  admirable 
keeping  with  his  firm  and  slightly  underhung  mouth. 

He  greeted  Hampden  respectfully,  asking  whether  Lord 
Essex  had  yet  arrived. 

"  He  is  expected  in  a  few  days'  time,"  replied  the  colo- 
nel. Then,  as  Joscelyn  rose  to  go  :  "  Nay,  do  not  leave  us, 
Mr.  Heyworth ;  let  me  present  you  to  Mr.  Hutchinson.  Mr. 
Heyworth  is  a  new  adherent  to  the  good  cause,  and  has 
sacrificed  much  to  join  us." 

"  He  is  happy  to  have  had  a  clear  call,"  said  John  Hutch- 
inson, attracted,  as  most  people  were,  by  the  straight  look 
of  Joscelyn's  clear  blue  eyes  and  by  the  mingled  frankness 
and  modesty  of  his  manner  and  expression.  "  As  for  me, 
though  I  have  declared  for  the  Parliament,  yet  I  have  not 
fully  made  up  my  mind  to  join  the  army." 

"  There  is  much  need  of  such  men  as  you,"  said 
Hampden.  "  Your  moderation,  your  education,  both  alike 
are  wanted.  Is  it  true,  the  report  that  reached  us  that  al- 
ready you  have  been  in  some  little  danger  from  the  King's 
party  ?" 

"9  Tis  quite  true,"  said  John  Hutchinson.  "  There  is  a 
warrant  out  to  seize  me  because  I  thrust  the  quartermaster- 
general  from  my  father's  house  at  Nottingham  when  he 


would  have  taken  possession  of  it  the  other  day  for  the  use 
of  my  Lord  Lindsey.  When  my  lord  himself  came  he  was 
civility  itself,  used  but  one  room,  and  was  pleasant  enough 
to  the  household ;  but  the  quartermaster,  having  taken 
umbrage,  would  be  revenged  upon  me,  and  being  warned 
by  a  friend  I  left  home  and  took  refuge  in  Leicestershire. 
However,  a  warrant  was  sent  to  the  sheriff  to  seize  me 
there,  and  so  escaping  with  the  help  of  my  servant,  I 
came  to  the  house  of  an  honest  fellow  at  Kelmarsh,  in 
this  county." 

"  And  what  is  the  true  account  of  the  setting  up  of  the 
royal  standard  ?"  asked  Hampden.  "  Many  conflicting  ru- 
mors have  reached  us." 

"  The  truth  is  this,"  said  John  Hutchinson.  "  At  six 
o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  23d  August  his  Majesty, 
attended  by  some  of  the  militia  and  about  eight  hundred 
horse,  mounted  the  hill  overlooking  Nottingham,  and  or- 
dered his  proclamation  to  be  read.  But  after  the  herald 
had  begun,  the  King,  with  his  customary  changeableness, 
caused  him  to  stop,  and,  sitting  there  with  the  paper  on 
his  knee,  wrote  some  corrections,  and  gave  it  back  to  the 
herald,  who,  they  say,  bungled  horribly  at  the  hastily 
scrawled  amendments.  Then  came  a  great  blowing  of 
trumpets,  and  the  standard  was  unfurled,  with  the  motto 
broidered  on  it,  '  Render  unto  Caesar  the  things  which  are 
Caesar's,'  not  —  one  would  have  thought  —  a  well-chosen 
watchword,  all  things  considered.  No  one  seemed  to  know 
what  to  do  or  where  to  set  up  the  standard,  and  heavy 
clouds  gathered,  throwing  a  gloom  over  the  scene,  and  the 
wind  blew  in  such  gusts  that  the  cavaliers  could  scarce 
stand  against  it.  At  last  they  agreed  to  set  the  standard 
on  one  of  the  towers  of  the  castle,  but  the  wind  blew  it 
down  the  following  day.  They  next  set  it  up  in  the  park, 
but  found  the  ground  little  but  rock,  so  the  heralds  dug 


120 

out  a  hole  with  their  daggers,  but  could  not  get  the  staff  to 
stand  firm,  and  for  hours  had  to  support  it  with  their  hands." 

"  An  ominous  beginning,"  said  Hampden,  thoughtfully. 
"  What  is  going  on  down  below,  Mr.  Heyworth  ?  I  hear  a 
great  tumult  of  voices." 

Joscelyn  looked  from  the  open  casement  into  the  mar- 
ket-place. The  shades  of  evening  were  falling,  and  already 
lights  shone  from  some  of  the  windows. 

"  The  people  are  all  crowding  round  a  rider,  sir,  who 
seems  to  be  asking  his  way,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  His  horse  is 
covered  with  foam,  and  he  himself  turned  copper -colored 
with  the  heat.  Ah !  he  draws  rein  at  your  door,  sir ;  he 
bears  despatches." 

In  another  minute  the  weary  messenger  was  led  into  the 
room. 

"  Do  you  come  from  London  ?"  asked  Hampden,  eagerly. 

"  Nay,  sir,  from  my  Lord  Brooke,  at  Warwick,"  said  the 
messenger,  handing  in  the  despatches  which  had  been  in- 
trusted to  him. 

With  eagerness  indescribable  Joscelyn  watched  his  colo- 
nel, his  heart  giving  a  great  bound  when  upon  the  stillness 
of  the  room  there  fell  at  length  the  welcome  news,  in 
Hampden's  clear,  inspiriting  voice  : 

"  Lord  Brooke  sends  word  that  intelligence  has  reached 
Warwick  that  the  Royalists,  under  the  Earl  of  Northamp- 
ton, are  in  full  march  towards  Northamptonshire,  and  begs 
that  we  will,  if  possible,  hasten  to  his  support." 

In  but  a  few  minutes  Joscelyn  was  speeding  across  the 
market-place  with  messages  from  his  chief,  and  before  long 
the  bugles  sounded  to  arms,  and  the  whole  population  of 
Northampton  turned  out  to  see  the  Parliamentary  troops 
muster,  and  to  cheer  them  with  all  the  strength  of  their 
voices  as,  in  the  cool  summer  night,  they  started  on  their 
march. 


121 


With  a  leader  whom  he  loved — nay,  almost  worshipped, 
with  that  inspiriting  motto  on  the  standard  he  bore,  sur- 
rounded by  men  of  courage  and  even  in  that  early  stage  of 
the  war  admirably  disciplined,  Joscelyn  could  hardly  have 
been  more  favorably  placed,  and  he  did  not  wonder  that 
John  Hutchinson,  as  he  bade  him  farewell,  regarded  him  al- 
most enviously.  In  after-days  he  used  to  look  back  to  this 
beginning  of  his  career  as  to  a  sort  of  paradise.  Yet  it  was 
a  stiff  march,  all  through  the  night,  and  with  but  a  brief  rest 
all  through  the  following  day,  and  he  was  tired  out  when,  the 
next  evening,  they  joined  Lord  Brooke,  who,  with  about 
three  thousand  men,  had  taken  up  his  quarters  at  Southain. 
With  the  men  from  Northampton  there  were  altogether 
nearly  six  thousand  infantry  and  three  hundred  cavalry,  so 
that  the  town  was  severely  taxed  to  accommodate  them  all. 

Joscelyn,  after  a  good  supper,  supplied  by  one  of  the 
townsfolk,  was  glad  enough  to  avail  himself  of  a  makeshift 
bed  on  the  floor  of  his  host's  parlor,  and,  thanks  to  the  long 
hours  he  had  spent  in  the  open  air  and  to  the  fatigue  of  the 
march,  he  was  asleep  in  five  minutes,  notwithstanding  the 
lights  and  the  buzz  of  eager  talk  in  the  room. 

For  three  hours  his  sleep  was  unbroken,  then  a  stir  and 
commotion  without  began  to  make  him  restless ;  he  dreamed 
that  he  and  Dick  were  boys  again ;  they  stood  with  Barnaby 
at  the  corner  of  Castle  Street,  watching  the  trial  gallops  of 
the  horses  at  the  Farnham  horse-fair ;  over  by  the  market- 
place a  cheap  Jack,  mounted  on  his  car,  harangued  the 
crowd,  relieved  at  intervals  by  a  man  who  beat  a  drum  and 
blew  a  trumpet  at  the  same  moment.  "  Look,  look  !"  cried 
Dick,  shaking  with  laughter,  "  the  fellow  blows  as  if  he 
would  burst." 

Joscelyn  started  up  on  his  elbow ;  the  vision  of  Farnham 
faded,  only  the  ghost  of  Dick's  laughter  seemed  to  fill  the 
strange  room,  and  a  very  real  sound  of  horse-hoofs  without 


122 

in  the  street,  of  drums  beating  to  arms  all  through  the  town, 
and  of  bugles  sounding  the  alarm,  made  the  blood  dance  in 
his  veins.  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  in  a  few  minutes  had 
joined  his  comrades,  the  host,  whose  face  had  a  scared  look 
in  the  dim  candlelight,  unbolting  the  door  for  them  and 
wishing  them  good  speed.  Men  with  lighted  torches  were 
hurrying  along  the  street.  "  What  news  ?"  shouted  Wag- 
staffe,  the  lieutenant-colonel  of  Hampden's  regiment,  as, 
with  Joscelyn  at  his  side,  he  pressed  on.  "  The  enemy  is 
at  hand,"  came  back  the  reply.  "The  Earl  of  Northamp- 
ton with  all  his  forces  is  but  two  miles  off." 

So  eager  were  the  soldiers  to  try  their  powers,  so  enthusi- 
astic were  they  for  the  cause,  that  their  great  shouts  of  joy  at 
hearing  these  tidings  made  the  whole  place  ring ;  hats  were 
thrown  into  the  air,  arms  clattered  on  the  stones,  and  in 
the  highest  spirits  the  little  army  led  by  Colonel  Hampden 
and  Lord  Brooke  marched  into  the  fields  near  the  town, 
where  till  daybreak  they  waited  in  battle  array.  In  the  first 
line,  posted  on  some  rising  ground,  was  Hampden's  brigade 
with  the  guns ;  with  the  second  line  was  Lord  Brooke,  and 
the  cavalry  was  in  reserve,,sheltered  by  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
Standard  in  hand,  Joscelyn  stood  through  the  long  weary 
waiting-time,  and  at  length,  as  day  broke,  the  enemy,  who 
had  been  afraid  to  attack  Southam  in  the  night,  having 
heard  that  the  Parliamentarians  were  on  the  qui  vive,  ap- 
peared on  the  Dunsmore  road  and  began  to  form  opposite. 
Then,  in  dead  silence,  the  two  armies  faced  each  other  for 
some  three  hours.  At  length,  about  eight  o'clock,  Lord 
Brooke  moved  up  his  cavalry  on  the  right  and  the  Parliamen- 
tary cannon  opened  fire,  Hampden  charging  with  his  infantry 
the  instant  the  King's  artillery  had  taken  up  their  ground. 

What  passed  in  the  sharp  skirmish  that  followed  Joscelyn 
would  have  found  it  difficult  to  describe.  He  was  conscious 
only  of  pressing  on  with  his  standard,  of  the  strange  con- 


123 

tagion  of  enthusiasm  which  made  the  regiment  like  one 
man,  of  the  thunder  of  the  guns,  then  of  a  confused  and  des- 
perate hand-to-hand  combat,  amid  the  clash  of  steel,  the 
shouted  watchwords,  the  groans  of  the  dying,  the  ghastly  cry 
of  wounded  horses.  The  Parliamentarians  were  outnum- 
bered, but  by  the  promptness  with  which  they  had  opened 
fire  they  had  gained  an  advantage.  On  and  yet  on  they 
pressed  against  the  living  wall  opposed  to  them,  Hampden, 
the  very  ideal  of  a  leader,  urging  them  forward,  and  himself 
ever  in  the  forefront  of  the  struggle.  So  complete  was  the 
melee  that  Joscelyn  made  prisoner  with  the  greatest  ease 
a  Royalist  captain,  named  Legge,  who  had  actually  mis- 
taken Hampden's  green-coated  men  for  his  own. 

At  length  the  King's  troops  utterly  gave  way,  and  were 
hotly  chased  by  Brooke's  cavalry  as  far  as  the  river.  Beyond 
this,  however,  pursuit  was  impossible,  for  the  Royalists 
formed  behind  it  and  showed  a  force  quite  four  times  as 
strong  as  their  opponents.  But  the  day  had  clearly  been 
won  by  the  Parliamentarians,  and  the  country-folk  of  the 
district  rose  upon  the  retreating  forces,  harassing  the  strag- 
glers with  cudgels  and  staves,  but  making  much  of  the  vic- 
torious troops  under  Hampden  and  Brooke,  and  bringing 
them  a  welcome  supply  of  provisions. 

In  a  few  days'  time  they  found  themselves  in  their  old 
quarters  at  Northampton,  the  towns-people  receiving  them 
with  open  arms,  for  not  only  were  they  inspirited  by  the 
news  of  the  victory  at  Southam,  but  they  had  been  seri- 
ously apprehensive  of  an  attack  during  their  absence ;  the 
petition  of  Withers,  the  mayor,  for  troops  from  London  to 
garrison  Northampton  had  unavoidably  been  refused  by  the 
Parliament,  and  the  sturdy  inhabitants,  left  to  their  own 
devices,  had  employed  the  time  to  good  advantage,  both 
men  and  women  working  day  and  night  at  earthworks  and 
fortifications. 


124 

The  good  news  that  Portsmouth  had  capitulated  to  Sir 
William  Waller,  and  that  almost  the  whole  of  the  south  of 
England,  with  the  exception  of  Cornwall,  was  now  in  pos- 
session of  the  Parliament,  made  further  matter  for  rejoicing 
at  Northampton ;  but  about  the  middle  of  September,  Lord 
Essex  having  taken  the  command  there,  Joscelyn  had  once 
more  to  leave  the  place,  marching  with  his  regiment  to 
Aylesbury,  where  Hampden  had  been  despatched  to  take 
the  command,  guarding  the  Buckinghamshire  magazines, 
and  protecting  the  London  road  in  Essex's  rear,  which  was 
threatened  by  the  Earl  of  Northampton. 

At  Aylesbury  another  sharp  skirmish  took  place,  Hamp- 
den's  well -disciplined  regiment,  combined  with  that  of 
Holies,  again  overcoming  the  Royalists ;  many  were  made 
prisoners,  many  were  killed,  and  the  darker  side  of  war  be- 
gan to  unfold  itself  to  Joscelyn.  There  were  scenes  dur- 
ing the  hot  pursuit  of  the  retreating  Royalists  to  Oxford 
which  never  left  his  memory;  scenes  which  he  recalled 
whenever  he  thought  of  that  first  sight  of  the  university 
town,  its  calm,  impressive  grandeur  contrasting  strangely 
with  the  miserable,  exhausted  soldiers,  chased  by  Hampden 
as  by  an  avenging  angel,  dislodged  from  Oxford  with  Lord 
Byron,  the  Royalist  commander,  followed  relentlessly  into 
the  vale  of  Evesham,  and  there  hopelessly  routed  and  scat- 
tered. 

Aylesbury  had,  in  the  meantime,  been  garrisoned  by  a 
fresh  detachment  of  the  Parliamentary  forces,  and  Hamp- 
den, with  his  gallant  greencoats,  pressed  on  to  Worcester, 
there  to  join  the  main  body  of  Essex's  army. 

Then  followed  a  weary  three  weeks  of  inaction,  and  grave 
anxiety  began  to  fill  the  minds  of  all,  for  both  money  and 
arms  were  grievously  needed.  Much  satisfaction  was  caused 
by  the  successful  capture,  on  behalf  of  the  Parliament,  of  a 
ship  at  Yarmouth,  laden  with  arms  which  the  Queen  had 


125 

purchased  in  Holland,  and  the  feeling  against  the  King 
deepened  inexpressibly  when  it  was  discovered  that  he  had 
sent  two  commissioners  to  the  King  of  Denmark  asking  him 
to  send  arms  for  twelve  thousand  men,  twenty-four  cannon, 
money  to  the  amount  of  ^"100,000,  some  ships  of  war,  three 
thousand  infantry,  and  one  thousand  horse.  The  notion  of 
this  foreign  aid  almost  maddened  the  people,  and  the  King's 
orders  that  Roman  Catholics  should  be  admitted  to  his 
army  greatly  prejudiced  his  cause.  An  idea  gained  ground 
that  he  was  but  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  the  pope,  and  that  a 
great  papist  conspiracy  was  being  fomented  by  the  Queen — 
a  suspicion  natural  enough  to  a  generation  whose  fathers 
had  told  them  of  the  martyrdoms  they  had  witnessed  at 
Smithfield.  Matters  were  not  mended  by  the  publication 
of  a  protestation  in  which  the  King  declared  Essex  and  his 
followers  to  be  traitors,  Brownists,  Anabaptists,  and  atheists. 
About  the  middle  of  October  the  King,  who  had  shown 
great  skill  in  the  manoeuvres  round  Worcester,  managed  to 
join  his  forces  with  those  of  Lord  Northampton.  He  was 
now  at  the  head  of  about  twenty  thousand  men,  and  had 
cut  off  Essex's  retreat  to  London.  A  battle  became  impera- 
tively necessary,  and  at  length,  on  the  i8th,  to  Joscelyn's 
inexpressible  relief,  Hampden's  regiment  received  orders  to 
march,  and  once  more  active  work  lay  before  them.  After 
a  night's  rest  at  Stratford- on- Avon  they  found  they  had 
but  just  arrived  in  time  to  hold  the  town  and  the  bridge 
against  a  severe  attack  on  the  part  of  the  Royalists.  The 
passage  of  the  river  secured,  the  regiment  and  the  excited 
townsfolk  who  had  lent  their  aid  were  glad  enough  of  a 
brief  rest,  but  it  was  prolonged  in  a  most  unfortunate 
way.  Not  until  the  evening  of  Saturday,  the  22d,  were 
Hampden's  greencoats  able  to  leave  Stratford,  for  they  had 
been  ordered  to  take  charge  of  the  greater  part  of  the  Par- 
liamentary artillery,  which  had  been  left  behind  by  the  main 


126 


body  of  Essex's  army,  owing  to  the  negligence  of  their  en- 
gineer, who  had  forgotten  to  provide  horses. 

The  delay  chafed  Hampden  almost  beyond  endurance, 
for  though  neither  army  knew  exactly  where  the  other  was, 
there  was  every  reason  to  apprehend  a  speedy  meeting,  and 
when  at  last  the  necessary  horses  had  been  procured  he 
pushed  forward  in  desperate  haste,  grudging  every  moment 
of  wasted  time. 

The  march  was  a  terrible  one  ;  thick  clouds  shut  out  even 
the  faint  starlight,  and  through  the  black  night,  guided  by 
a  few  flickering  lanterns  and  the  uncertain  glare  of  torches, 
the  four  regiments  composing  the  rear-guard  of  the  Parlia- 
mentary army  struggled  on.  In  all  there  were  about  three 
thousand  infantry,  and  their  leaders,  Colonel  Hampden, 
Lord  Brooke,  Colonel  Grantham,  and  Colonel  Barkham, 
rode  to  and  fro,  cheering  them  on  and  superintending  the 
desperate  exertions  necessary  to  get  the  guns  through  the 
deep  lanes,  almost  impassable  by  reason  of  the  thick  mud 
and  the  ditch-like  ruts.  The  autumn  wind  was  piercingly 
cold ;  at  intervals  heavy  showers  drenched  the  men  to  the 
skin,  and  Joscelyn,  tired  and  depressed,  found  the  hours 
drag  by  with  intolerable  slowness. 

He  thought  of  Clemency,  and  recalled  her  sweet  voice  as 
he  had  heard  it  on  the  night  of  the  attack  on  the  Court- 
house. Toiling  painfully  along  the  weary  way,  he  tried  to 
march  to  the  psalm  tune  he  so  well  remembered,  and  to 
cheer  himself  in  the  darkness  with  the  recollection  of  the 
hazel  eyes  which  he  so  greatly  longed  to  see  again. 

At  last  the  clouds  dispersed,  the  sun  rose,  and  with  the 
beginning  of  that  clear  cold  morning  came  fresh  vigor,  and 
the  chill  depression  of  the  all-night  march  passed  away. 
Just  as  the  men  had  halted  at  a  little  way-side  village,  and 
were  making  a  hasty  breakfast,  a  trooper  galloped  up  with 
a  message  from  Essex  to  Hampden.  In  a  few  minutes  the 


127 

news  spread  through  the  ranks.  It  appeared  that  the  main 
body  of  the  Parliamentary  army  had  occupied  Kineton  on 
the  previous  afternoon,  and  when  day  dawned  had  been 
astonished  to  find  the  King,  with  all  his  forces,  confronting 
them  on  the  top  of  Edge  Hill.  A  great  cheer  rose  from  the 
men  of  the  rear-guard  when  they  heard  these  tidings ;  fa- 
tigue was  forgotten,  and  with  renewed  zeal  they  forced  their 
way  on.  No  Sunday's  rest  was  possible  for  them,  though 
the  bells  rang  from  the  tower  of  every  village  church,  and 
the  laborers  in  clean  smocks,  and  the  countrywomen  in 
their  scarlet  cloaks  and  best  beaver  bonnets,  all  told  of  the 
weekly  holiday.  At  about  half-past  two  in  the  afternoon 
the  first  dull  roar  of  cannon  shook  the  ground  and  echoed 
among  the  hills  •  again  a  ringing  cheer  broke  from  the  in- 
fantry; the  battle  had  begun,  and  they  made  almost  super- 
human efforts  to  press  on.  Hampden,  with  his  inspiring 
presence  and  stimulating  voice,  urged  them  ever  forward, 
and  it  was  he  himself  who  seized  the  bridle  of  one  who  was 
galloping  desperately  past  them,  and  forced  the  terrified 
man  to  give  an  account  of  what  was  happening. 

Joscelyn  saw  with  an  indescribable  pang  that  the  run- 
away soldier,  who  looked  like  a  hunted  cur,  wore  the  orange 
ribbons  of  Essex's  army  in  his  hat. 

"  Speak,"  said  Hampden  ;  "  how  goes  the  battle  ?" 

"  Lost,  lost !"  said  the  man,  in  a  panic-stricken,  breathless 
voice.  "Lost  through  foul  treachery." 

"  Tell  the  whole  truth,"  said  Hampden,  sternly. 

"  Before  God,  sir,  'tis  true,"  cried  the  man.  "  'Twas  at 
the  very  first  charge.  One  regiment  was  in  the  left  wing, 
behind  that  of  Sir  Faithful  Fortescue,  and  we  were  charg- 
ing the  King's  right,  when  Sir  Faithful  ordered  his  men  to 
fire  on  the  ground,  and  galloping  forward,  presented  himself 
and  his  troop  to  Prince  Rupert — deserted  on  the  field,  sir, 
and  turned  and  charged  upon  us.  We  were  thrown  into 


128 

utter  confusion  and  scattered,  and  most  of  us  pursued  and 
cut  down." 

Hampden's  brow  contracted. 

"  Turn  about,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said,  "  and  save  your 
reputation.  March  on,  boys !  Hasten  to  the  rescue.  Me- 
thinks  Sir  Faithful  Fortescue  needs  rechristening." 

With  a  shout  of  enthusiasm  the  soldiers  pressed  forward, 
the  dull  roar  of  the  cannon,  the  sharp  rattle  of  musketry, 
and  the  wretched  sight  of  runaways  becoming  more  and 
more  frequent. 

At  last  Kineton  came  into  sight,  and  about  a  mile  to  the 
northeast  of  the  little  town  Prince  Rupert,  who  had  wasted 
nearly  an  hour  in  plundering  the  baggage-wagons  which  the 
Parliamentarians  had  left  in  the  street,  rallied  his  cavalry 
for  a  fresh  charge.  With  rapture  Hampden's  greencoats 
found  themselves  just  in  time.  Hastily  forming,  they  threw 
themselves  into  the  breach  between  the  prince  and  the  dis- 
organized and  flying  troops  from  Edge  Hill,  while  the  guns 
which  they  had  dragged  with  such  infinite  difficulty  through 
the  heavy  lanes  opened  a  deadly  fire.  Joscelyn  saw  at  least 
a  dozen  of  Prince  Rupert's  men  killed  by  the  first  volley; 
he  was  watching  the  mad  plunging  of  a  dying  horse  in  the 
opposite  ranks,  when  a  sudden  shock  for  a  moment  half 
paralyzed  his  arm;  a  bullet  had  cloven  the  staff  of  his 
standard  in  two,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  narrowly  escaped 
death.  By  the  time  he  had  picked  up  the  colors  the  con- 
fusion in  Prince  Rupert's  troops  had  increased ;  more  and 
more  men  and  horses  fell  under  the  vigorous  fire  of  the 
Parliamentary  guns,  and  at  length  the  Royalists  turned  and 
fled  across  the  plain  in  great  disorder.  It  was  impossible 
for  the  infantry  to  pursue  them,  but  Hampden  and  Gran- 
tham  pressed  forward  as  fast  as  might  be  with  their  regi- 
ments, and  were  relieved  to  find  that  the  battle  which  had 
at  first  seemed  hopelessly  lost  was  still  in  progress,  and  that 


I29 

the  advantage  now  lay  with  the  Parliamentarians,  who  had 
rallied  with  great  vigor,  and  during  Prince  Rupert's  absence 
in  Kineton  had  totally  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs. 

The  two  colonels  were  soon  summoned  to  a  council  by 
Essex,  and  they  eagerly  pressed  him  to  continue  the  attack, 
to  force  the  King's  position  and  secure  the  London  road, 
but  the  over-cautious  Essex  was  not  to  be  persuaded ;  he 
represented  that  the  night  was  approaching,  and  that  the 
men  were  worn  out. 

Joscelyn,  looking  into  his  colonel's  face  as  he  left  the 
council,  knew  by  its  expression  the  disappointment  that 
awaited  the  men.  They  received  orders  to  remain  as  they 
were  on  the  field,  and  amid  much  grumbling  preparations 
were  made  for  the  night.  Food  there  was  none.  Utterly 
spent  with  exertion,  and  no  longer  sustained  by  the  hope  of 
active  work,  Joscelyn  threw  himself  down  on  the  trampled 
grass  on  which  but  a  short  time  before  the  battle  had  raged. 
The  twilight  just  revealed  the  horrors  of  the  plain,  strewn 
with  hundreds  of  the  dead ;  here  and  there  little  groups  of 
helpers  moved  to  and  fro  removing  the  wounded  or  giving 
them  such  rough  aid  as  was  possible  on  the  field.  With  a 
sick  feeling  of  dread  he  wondered  whether  his  own  father 
might  be  lying  among  the  heaps  of  slain,  or  whether  Dick's 
voice  mingled  in  the  faint  groans  which  rose  from  all  sides. 
At  last  he  could  endure  the  miserable  suspense  no  longer ; 
groping  his  way  as  best  he  could,  he  stumbled  on  in  the  dim 
light,  seeing  many  a  sight  which  in  after- times  haunted 
him  in  his  dreams,  but  coming  to  no  familiar  face,  and  in 
time  gaining  a  sort  of  relief  from  the  non-fulfilment  of  his 
fears. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  voice  which  he  seemed  to  know 
startled  him  into  an  agony  of  apprehension. 

"  Help,  help  !"  moaned  a  wounded  man,  lying  half  stifled 
under  the  weight  of  a  dead  horse.  Joscelyn,  stooping  over 
9 


130 

him,  saw  that  it  was  the  youngest  son  of  honest  old  Barna- 
by,  the  gate-keeper,  one  of  the  grooms  at  Shortell  Manor. 

"  Why,  Robin  !"  he  cried,  "  is  it  you,  my  poor  fellow  ?" 

With  some  difficulty  he  succeeded  in  freeing  him  from  the 
dead  weight  of  the  horse,  and  kneeling  down,  raised  him  into 
a  less  painful  position. 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  said  the  groom.  Then  straining  his 
dim  eyes  to  scan  the  face  of  his  rescuer,  he  all  at  once  rec- 
ognized him. 

"  Is  it  you,  sir  ?"  he  exclaimed  ,  "  I  made  sure  'twas  Mas- 
ter Dick." 

"Is  he  safe  ?"  cried  Joscelyn,  with  a  choking  feeling  in  his 
throat.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  tell  me,  Robin.  And  my  fa- 
ther ?  was  he  in  the  battle  ?" 

"Aye,  sir,  Master  Dick  and  Master  Jervis  and  Sir  Thomas 
himself  all  here,  and  unhurt  as  far  as  I  know." 

Joscelyn  made  an  exclamation  of  relief.  "  But  you  are 
sorely  hurt,  and  I  waste  moments  which  might  save  you  from 
bleeding  to  death  !"  he  cried  the  next  instant. 

"  Nay,  sir,  I'm  past  saving,"  groaned  Robin.  "  But  if  you 
would  give  me  just  a  drink  of  water." 

"  There  is  not  a  drop  to  be  had !"  cried  Joscelyn,  in  de- 
spair. "  Our  men  are  parched  with  thirst  after  their  march. 
Nay,  but  you  shall  be  saved.  I'll  have  you  carried  to  Kine- 
ton,  Robin,  if  only  I  can  stanch  this  wound  first.  See,"  and 
he  tore  off  his  orange  scarf  and  used  it  not  unskilfully  as  a 
bandage.  "  You  must  change  sides  for  the  nonce,  and  wear 
Parliamentary  colors." 

"You  were  ever  one  for  a  jest,  sir,"  said  the  groom,  smil- 
ing faintly  as  he  looked  into  the  resolute  face  of  his  helper. 

"  I  shall  assuredly  not  find  you  again,"  said  Joscelyn,  in 
perplexity,"  if  I  go  to  fetch  my  servant  to  help  lift  you  ;  and 
if  I  lift  you  alone  I  shall  probably  half  kill  you  with  pain. 
Which  will  you  have,  Robin  ?" 


HELP,    HELP,'  MOANED   A  WOUNDED   MAN." 


[Page  129. 


"  Don't  leave  me,  sir,"  pleaded  the  groom.  "  I'll  trust 
you  with  anything,  but  in  this  darkness  how  could  you  find 
me  again  ?" 

"  You  are  but  slightly  built,  and  I  have  often  carried 
heavier  weights  in  the  sports  at  home,"  said  Joscelyn.  And 
in  a  few  minutes  he  had  triumphantly  landed  the  groom 
among  the  greencoats,  and  with  the  help  of  Morrison  and 
two  of  the  other  men  laid  him  on  a  horse-cloth  and  bore 
him  to  a  barn  near  Kineton,  where  with  much  trouble  they 
were  able  to  get  him  the  food  and  drink  of  which  he  stood 
in  such  grievous  need. 

Hearing  that  a  surgeon  was  attending  to  some  of  the 
wounded  in  a  neighboring  cottage,  Joscelyn  left  Morrison 
in  charge,  and  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  poor-looking 
house  to  which  he  had  been  directed,  was  admitted  into  a 
bare  and  forlorn  room,  where,  to  his  surprise,  he  found 
Hampden,  Sir  William  Balfour,  and  three  or  four  other 
Parliamentary  officers.  They  were  gathered  round  a  dying 
man  who  lay  on  a  heap  of  straw,  the  only  bed  the  cottage 
could  afford.  Hampden,  perceiving  his  entrance,  crossed 
the  room  to  speak  to  him. 

"  They  told  me  a  surgeon  was  to  be  found  here,  sir,"  said 
Joscelyn.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  present." 

"  I  came  from  the  general  to  ask  after  his  prisoner — 'tis 
my  Lord  Lindsey,  the  general  of  the  King's  army,  and  dy- 
ing, I  fear.  The  surgeon  could  not  be  fetched  to  him  soon 
enough." 

"  Who  is  the  one  who  supports  him  ?"  asked  Joscelyn,  in 
an  undertone. 

"  His  son,  who,  endeavoring  to  rescue  his  father,  was  also 
taken  prisoner.  I  hear,  too,  that  my  old  neighbor,  Sir  Ed- 
mund Verney,  the  King's  standard-bearer,  is  slain — a  brave, 
true  man  whose  heart  I  believe  was  with  the  country,  though 
from  some  private  scruple  of  having  eaten  the  King's  bread 


132 

he  thought  it  his  duty  to  oppose  us  now.  Who  wants  the 
surgeon's  aid  ?" 

"  'Tis  a  poor  groom  of  my  father's,  whom  I  found  on  the 
field  sorely  wounded  and  carried  here." 

"  Wait  but  a  few  minutes,  and  one  of  these  will  be  at 
liberty,"  said  Hampden.  "  And  when  you  have  played  the 
good  Samaritan  I  will  return  with  you  to  the  regiment. 
There  is  naught  to  be  done  for  yonder  poor  man,  and  as 
long  as  we  are  here  he  will  but  exhaust  himself  with  re- 
proaching us.  One  cannot  argue  with  a  dying  prisoner — he 
would  be  best  left  in  peace  with  his  son." 

For  the  first  time  Joscelyn  began  to  listen  to  the  words  of 
the  dying  earl,  who,  while  the  servants  dressed  his  wounds, 
poured  forth  vehement  remonstrances  to  the  Parliamentary 
officers  who  had  come  to  inquire  after  his  welfare. 

"  Rebels  every  one  of  you  !  accursed  rebels  !"  he  cried, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other.  "  Go  and  tell  my  Lord  Essex 
that  he  ought  to  cast  himself  at  the  King's  feet  and  crave 
his  Majesty's  pardon,  or  speedily  he  will  find  his  memory 
odious  to  the  nation.  And  you,  too,  Mr.  Hampden,  if  you 
would  not  have  the  ancient  name  you  bear  execrated  by 
every  Englishman,  repent  and  turn  while  yet  there  is  time." 

"  I  will  not  harass  you  at  such  a  moment  with  words,  my 
lord,"  said  Hampden,  with  grave  courtesy,  "  nor  thrust  my 
opinions  upon  you.  I  wish  I  could  get  you  better  accom- 
modation than  this  poor  hut,  but  the  surgeons  will  not  risk 
moving  you,  I  fear." 

The  earl  protested  that  he  wanted  nothing  but  to  con- 
vince them  of  the  error  of  their  ways,  and  grew  so  increas- 
ingly vehement  that  the  Parliamentarians  thought  it  better 
to  withdraw,  leaving  the  prisoner  with  his  son,  Lord  Wil- 
loughby.  Hampden  signed  to  one  of  the  surgeons  to  follow 
them. 

"A  virulent,  bitter-tongued  malignant  as  I  ever  saw,"  said 


133 

one  of  the  officers,  as  the  door  closed  behind  them.  His 
somewhat  harsh-looking  face  and  rasping  voice  inspired 
Joscelyn  with  strong  dislike,  while  a  rough  jest  which  fol- 
lowed disgusted  him  yet  more. 

"  He  is  dying,  cousin,  so  let  us  not  take  his  words  in  ill 
part,"  said  Hampden,  quietly.  uMr.  Heyworth,  I  should  like 
to  present  you  to  my  kinsman,  Colonel  Cromwell." 

Joscelyn  was  amazed  to  feel  a  sort  of  strange  magnetic 
attraction  when,  slightly  lowering  a  torch  that  he  might 
the  better  see,  this  unkempt -looking  colonel  grasped  his 
hand. 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  said  Cromwell, 
genuine  kindliness  lighting  up  his  keen  gray  eyes  and  soft- 
ening his  rugged  features.  "  God  grant  that,  having  volun- 
teered in  the  service  of  your  country  at  much  cost  to  your- 
self, you  may  be  permitted  to  serve  throughout  this  struggle 
and  to  witness  the  establishment  of  righteousness  and  peace 
in  our  borders." 

There  was  a  fervor,  a  contagious  enthusiasm,  a  depth  of 
sincere  devotion,  in  this  man's  beliefs,  both  religious  and 
political,  which  exercised  an  extraordinary  influence  on 
those  about  him  ;  and  Joscelyn,  though  sensitive,  fastidious, 
and  with  a  young  man's  tendency  to  judge  severely  any 
offence  against  good  taste,  found  his  prejudices  melting 
away  beneath  the  force  of  Cromwell's  wonderful  zeal  like 
snow  beneath  the  mid-day  sun. 

When  Robin,  the  groom,  had  been  placed  in  the  surgeon's 
hands,  Joscelyn,  having  charged  him  with  many  messages 
to  Dick  and  little  Rosamond,  walked  back  to  the  battle-field 
with  Hampden  and  his  kinsman,  listening  with  keen  interest 
to  the  conversation  between  them.  As  they  approached 
the  place  where  the  greencoats  were  encamped,  Cromwell 
bade  them  good -night,  and  walked  briskly  on,  Joscelyn 
watching  his  powerful  figure  as  it  disappeared  into  the  dark- 


134 

ness,  and  listening  to  his  vigorous  footsteps  ringing  sharply 
on  the  frosty  ground. 

"Come,  boy,  you  will  freeze  if  you  stand  still  much  long- 
er," said  Hampden,  laughing.  "  What  do  you  think  of  my 
cousin  Cromwell  ?" 

"  Is  he  indeed  your  cousin,  sir?"  said  Joscelyn,  dubiously. 
"  If  only  he  were  somewhat  more  like  you — one  is  ashamed 
to  think  of  externals  when  there  is  such  wonderful  power — • 
such  a  grand  nature,  but — but — " 

"  But,"  interrupted  Hampden,  smiling,  "  as  some  one  re- 
marked to  me  once  on  the  Parliament  stairs,  '  he  is  a  sloven.' 
That  is  what  you  would  say.  Never  mind,  my  boy;  a  rough 
diamond,  I  grant  you,  but  the  finest  you  and  I  shall  ever 
look  on.  Mark  my  words  !  that  sloven  will  be  the  greatest 
man  in  England." 

Joscelyn  was  silent ;  he  looked  sadly  over  the  dim  battle- 
field with  its  heaps  of  slain,  at  the  fires  burning  here  and 
there  to  warm  the  weary  and  shivering  soldiers,  at  the  pur- 
ple sky  where  the  stars  shone  brightly  in  the  frosty  atmos- 
phere. If  Cromwell  were  indeed  the  greatest  man  in  Eng- 
land, the  true  leader  to  steer  the  nation  through  these  stormy 
times,  he  hoped  that  Hampden  might  be  at  hand  to  help 
his  kinsman  with  that  broad,  tolerant  spirit,  that  mingled 
zeal  and  wisdom,  that  deep  sympathetic  insight  which  char- 
acterized him. 

Glancing  round,  he  saw  that  his  colonel  had  already 
wrapped  a  cloak  about  him  and  thrown  himself  down  on  the 
turf,  where  a  few  low  bushes  offered  a  slight  shelter  from 
the  cold  night  wind.  His  long  hair  waved  in  the  breeze, 
and  the  ruddy  glow  from  the  nearest  fire  fell  athwart  his 
shoulder  and  across  the  grass  and  daisies  on  which  his  head 
was  pillowed.  Joscelyn  thought  of  little  Monnie's  daisy 
chain  which  had  proved  too  small  to  crown  the  patriot,  and 
then,  with  a  shudder,  a  terrible  fancy  crossed  his  mind. 


135 

"  You  look  scared,"  said  Hampden,  glancing  up  at  him 
with  a  smile.  "  Do  ghosts  walk  abroad  ?" 

"  It — it  is  nothing,  sir,"  he  faltered.  "  But  I  seemed  to 
see  down  there  a  great  pool  of  blood." 

"You  are  overtired,  and  the  horrors  you  have  been 
through  prey  on  your  mind,"  said  Hampden.  "  Lie  down 
here  by  the  bushes  and  sleep,  my  son.  You  and  I  may  per- 
chance lie  in  a  pool  of  blood  to-morrow  if  God  sees  'tis  best 
for  the  country,  but  at  present  let  us  take  comfort  in  the 
red  firelight." 


CHAPTER    XI 

A  benediction  was  her  face, 
Her  heart  a  very  tender  place 
Where  love  conceived  the  potent  rule 
To  ache  for  others,  merciful 
Beyond  the  boundaries  of  race. 

— NORMAN  R.  GALE. 

CLEMENCY  had  found  during  those  trying  autumn  months 
that  the  best  remedy  for  the  anxiety  which  constantly  bur- 
dened her  lay  in  a  vigorous  attention  to  the  needs  of  other 
people.  What  with  her  household  duties  and  the  oversight 
of  the  children,  a  good  deal  of  writing  and  reading  with  her 
grandfather,  and  the  visiting  of  sundry  old  or  sick  neigh- 
bors, her  time  was  well  occupied.  Gayeties  she  had  none ; 
the  few  merrymakings  that  had  been  wont  to  take  place  at 
the  country-houses  within  reach  had  all  been  put  a  stop  to 
by  the  war;  some  friends  were  alienated  from  them,  some 
were  mourning  for  relatives  slain  in  battle,  and  all  were  im- 
poverished and  anxious — not  in  the  mood  for  social  gather- 
ings. 

One  afternoon  about  the  middle  of  November  she  had 
walked  with  Hester  to  the  farm,  nearly  a  mile  from  the 
Court-house,  where  the  parents  of  Original  Sin  Smith,  the 
children's  tutor,  lived.  Willey  Farm,  with  its  red-tiled  roof, 
its  picturesque  gables,  and  its  quaint  round  pigeon-cote, 
stood  close  to  the  summit  of  the  ridge  of  curiously  rounded 
downs  known  as  White  Hill ;  but  Clemency  thought  little 
of  the  beauty  of  the  glorious  plain  which  it  commanded 
from  its  windows,  or  of  the  triple  chain  of  downs  in  the  dis- 


137 

tance;  what  she  cared  for  was  the  comfort  and  snugness  of 
the  delightful  old  kitchen  with  its  blazing  logs  and  its  ex- 
quisite neatness.  Leaving  Hester  to  see  the  live-stock  with 
their  master,  the  fine  old  yeoman,  she  sat  cozily  and  con- 
tentedly in  the  chimney-corner  listening  to  the  homely 
wisdom  of  Salome  Smith,  the  mistress  of  the  house,  who, 
with  her  dark  gown,  white  cap  and  neckerchief,  and  strong 
pure  face,  was  perhaps  as  good  a  specimen  as  could  have 
been  found  of  a  Puritan  dame. 

Stern  indeed  was  the  Calvinism  of  this  old  Englishwom- 
an. A  short  day  of  grace,  a  few  ultimately  saved,  a  vast 
majority  to  be  everlastingly  enthralled  by  a  triumphant  devil, 
who,  oddly  enough,  proved  stronger  than  the  Saviour  of  the 
world — such  were  the  articles  of  her  belief. 

"  But,  as  is  so  often  the  case,  she  was  very  unlike  her 
creed :  the  love  to  God  and  man  which  filled  her  heart  left 
no  room  for  the  dark  doctrines  she  had  been  taught  to 
work  harm ;  but  the  intense  earnestness  of  purpose  which 
was  the  special  feature  of  Puritanism,  the  individual  conse- 
cration of  the  will  to  God,  gave  her  a  wonderful  force..  She 
seldom  said  anything  remarkable,  and  yet  those  who  tatked 
with  her  came  away  braced  and  strenghtened. 

"And  what  news  have  you  of  your  sister  ?"  asked  Salome, 
twisting  the  flax  on  her  distaff  with  deft  fingers. 

"  I  had  a  letter  yesterday,"  said  Clemency,  "  and  Faith 
writes  that  all  is  well,  but  that  they  are  anxious  lest  the  way 
to  London  be  cut  off.  She  says  that  but  lately  Prince 
Rupert's  troopers  seized  some  wagon-loads  of  cloth  on  their 
wa)  from  Gloucestershire  to  the  London  market,  and  that 
the  country-folk  groan  under  his  devastations." 

"  He  is  well  named  Prince  Robber,"  said  Salome  Smith. 
"  'Twas  he  that  spent  so  much  time  in  robbing  the  baggage- 
wagons  in  Kineton  Street." 

"  Yes,"  said  Clemency.    "  Or,  as  they  say,  in  'plundering' 


138 

— a  new-fangled  word  which  some  do  say  was  expressly  in- 
vented for  this  practice  of  Prince  Rupert's ;  but  my  grand- 
father says  'twas  brought  over  some  years  back  by  those 
that  served  in  the  Swedish  war." 

"  Has  Sir  Robert  heard  again  from  Mr.  Heyworth  ?" 

"  Not  since  the  account  of  Edge  Hill,"  said  Clemency. 
"  That  was  written  the  end  of  October  at  Northampton,  and 
he  was  expecting  to  march,  but  spoke  of  suffering  again 
with  his  knee,  which  was  injured  here  last  summer." 

"That  would  be  hard  for  him  in  the  long  marches,"  said 
Salome,  thoughtfully.  "  And  often  there  is  marching  hither 
and  thither  with  little  seeming  use  or  profit.  But  I  take  it 
there's  service  in  it  all  the  same.  'Tis  like  our  comings  and 
goings  in  the  house ;  it  don't  seem  that  I  help  on  the  Lord's 
Kingdom  just  by  sweeping  away  the  dust  and  redding  up 
the  furniture,  and  all  to  do  over  again  in  a  few  hours'  time, 
but  yet  I  know  'tis  serving  somehow." 

"I  should  sometimes  like  to  see  how  it  serves,"  said 
Clemency,  with  a  sigh. 

"Well,  dear,  and  so  you  shall  see  and  '  be  satisfied ';  but 
not' here,  I  take  it — not  here." 

Just  then  there  entered  a  sombre-faced  man  with  dark 
hair  cropped  close  to  his  head,  and  wearing  the  smallest 
and  plainest  of  white  bands  between  his  scraggy  throat  and 
his  ill -cut  suit  of  rusty  black.  Clemency,  who  by  nature 
hated  all  extremes,  could  scarcely  look  at  Original  Sin 
Smith  without  a  feeling  of  irritation,  and  though  she  tried 
hard  to  respect  him  and  to  see  his  good  points,  she  was 
conscious  of  a  perpetual  desire  to  escape  from  his  presence. 
She  soon  contrived  to  take  leave,  dexterously  planning  a 
call  at  one  of  the  cottages  near  the  "  Harrow,"  in  order  to 
have  an  excuse  for  refusing  the  escort  which  Original  was 
not  slow  to  offer. 

The  short  afternoon  was  beginning  to  close  in  and  the 


139 

western  sky  glowed  red  through  the  trees  as  the  two  sisters, 
with  Gyp,  the  deer-hound,  bounding  along  in  front  of  them, 
passed  through  the  little  wood  or  shaw  which  bordered  the 
lane  after  they  had  crossed  Stansted  Heath.  Clemency 
paused  beneath  an  old  yew-tree  of  which  she  was  specially 
fond,  and  broke  off  a  little  branch  which  was  covered  with 
ripe  red  berries.  Then  they  walked  briskly  on,  crossing  a 
stile  into  the  park,  and  entering  the  garden  by  a  long  path 
bordered  by  shrubs,  commonly  known  as  the  Ghost  Walk, 
owing  to  the  trunk  of  an  old  oak  covered  with  ivy,  which  in 
the  twilight  assumed  grotesque  shapes  and  had  scared  many 
a  wayfarer. 

"  See,"  said  Hester,  as  they  crossed  the  small  court-yard, 
"  some  visitor  must  have  ridden  to  the  door  since  we  left ; 
there  are  hoof-prints  on  the  ground." 

"  One  of  the  Evelyns,  from  Godstone  or  Wotton,  maybe," 
said  Clemency,  entering  the  hall,  and  with  some  little  curi- 
osity turning  towards  the  study.  The  lamp  was  already 
lighted,  and  the  blazing  fire  dazzled  her  eyes ;  for  a  minute 
she  could  not  see  distinctly. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  returned,  Clemency,"  said  her  grand- 
father. "  Here  is  a  welcome  guest  just  arrived." 

Her  color  deepened  and  spread  as  with  a  sudden  rapture 
of  surprise  she  perceived  not  one  of  the  Evelyns,  but  Josce- 
lyn  Heyworth. 

In  the  first  minute  of  confusion  she  scarcely  realized  any- 
thing, only  knew  that  once  more  there  passed  between  them 
that  glance  from  soul  to  soul,  that  strange  consciousness  of 
union  which  during  the  night  of  the  attack  on  the  house 
had  changed  her  whole  life.  When  the  greetings  were  over, 
and  with  her  fur-bordered  cloak  and  hood  thrown  aside  she 
had  taken  her  place  by  the  hearth,  she  was  able  to  note 
more  quietly  the  changes  that  had  come  over  her  lover. 

For  Joscelyn  was  changed,  as  every  thoughtful  man  is 


140 

changed  by  the  first  entrance  upon  a  great  struggle.  He 
had  looked  death  in  the  face  many  times ;  he  had  seen 
strife  and  bloodshed,  had  borne  hardship  and  weariness 
and  pain,  had  chafed  under  injustice  and  treacherous  be- 
trayal, had  been  stirred  to  enthusiasm  by  the  courage  and 
devotion  of  others.  He  looked  years  older,  and  there  was 
a  strength  and  steadfastness  in  his  expression  which  did  not 
quench  its  humorous  brightness,  but  greatly  mellowed  it. 

"  Has  peace  been  declared  ?"  asked  Clemency,  a  great 
hope  filling  her  heart. 

"  Alas,  no,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  There  were  hopes  of  peace 
at  the  end  of  last  week,  but  little  likelihood  of  it  now.  The 
indignation  against  the  King's  conduct  has  waxed  greater 
than  ever.  His  needless  insult  to  your  friend  Sir  John 
Evelyn  was  seen  to  be  only  an  excuse  to  put  off  the  ne- 
gotiations till  the  city  had  been  attacked.  No  one  had 
heard  that  Sir  John  was  a  proclaimed  traitor,  and  it  is 
thought  the  proclamation  was  antedated." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  Sir  Robert,  dryly,  "  such  craft  is  possi- 
ble enough  to  those  who  deem  themselves  above  law." 

"  Then,  too,"  continued  Joscelyn,  "all  London  was  furious 
at  the  King's  treachery  in  ordering  Prince  Rupert  to  attack 
Brentford  when  the  Parliament  had  proclaimed  a  cessation 
of  hostilities,  and  while  his  own  message  calling  God  to 
witness  his  great  desire  of  peace  and  offering  to  treat  in 
order  to  avoid  further  blood  -  shedding  was  actually  being 
read  at  Westminster." 

"  What  passed  at  Brentford  ?"  asked  Sir  Robert.  "  Were 
you  there  ?" 

"  Our  regiment  was  quartered  at  Uxbridge,  sir,"  replied 
Joscelyn,  "and  Brentford  was  occupied  only  by  Colonel 
Denzil  Holies  and  his  brave  redcoats  who  did  so  nobly  at 
Edge  Hill.  The  early  morning  was  foggy,  and  the  men 
were  resting  under  the  security  of  the  flag  of  truce,  when 


Hi 

suddenly  they  were  surprised  by  eight  regiments  of  the 
King's  foot  and  some  twenty  troops  of  horse.  Colonel 
Holies,  though  so  vastly  outnumbered,  held  out  bravely, 
and  as  soon  as  Colonel  Hampden  heard  the  firing  he  hur- 
ried to  the  rescue  with  his  greencoats,  and  Lord  Brooke  did 
the  same  with  his  purplecoats." 

"  But  you  must  still  have  been  greatly  outnumbered  ?" 
said  Sir  Robert,  bending  eagerly  forward,  his  shrewd  old 
face  full  of  intense  interest. 

"  Yes,  sir,  desperately.  Five  times  we  charged  the 
streets,  trying  to  open  a  retreat  for  Colonel  Holies  and 
his  men,  but  the  King's  troops  attacked  us  on  all  sides  • 
we  could  but  just  hold  out  till  my  Lord  Essex  and  the 
trainbands  of  the  City  were  in  sight,  and  before  they 
arrived  our  ammunition  was  spent,  and  all  we  could  do 
was  to  fling  ourselves  into  the  Thames.  Many  brave  fel- 
lows were  drowned ,  many  swam  to  the  other  bank ;  some 
crossed  in  barges,  some  in  boats  ;  and  those  that  survived 
joined  my  Lord  Essex,  and,  returning  to  Brentford,  man- 
aged to  beat  the  Royalists  through  the  town  and  take  pos- 
session again." 

"Did  the  trainbands  all  turn  out?"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

"Yes,  sir;  'twas  a  grand  sight.  The  feeling  against  the 
King  was  most  bitter,  and  all  through  the  night  the  train- 
bands poured  out  of  the  City  to  block  his  road.  On  Sunday 
morning  there  were  twenty-four  thousand  men  drawn  up  on 
Turnham  Green,  and  if  only  prompt  action  had  been  taken 
the  war  might  perchance  have  been  brought  to  a  success- 
ful close.  Colonel  Hampden  and  his  regiment  were  de- 
spatched to  Acton  in  order  to  sweep  round  the  King's  army 
and  put  it  between  two  fires,  but  we  had  but  just  got  there 
when  we  received  the  general's  orders  to  return.  There 
was  much  murmuring  among  the  men.  London  was  saved 
from  the  attack  planned  by  the  King,  his  army  retiring  to 


142 

Kingston  and  Reading ;  but  it  was  like  the  day  after  Edge 
Hill  —  no  decisive  blow  was  struck  —  a  great  opportunity 
was  just  cast  away." 

"  Colonel  Hampden  is  much  dispirited,  I  fear,"  said  Sir 
Robert. 

"  He  is  very  patient,  and  full  of  loyalty  to  those  in  com- 
mand," replied  Joscelyn,  "  but  he  is  sorely  tried  by  the 
lack  of  energy  and  promptitude.  On  Sunday,  at  Acton,  he 
looked  for  a  moment  almost  heart  broken  when  we  were 
recalled." 

"  But  is  there  an  armistice  ?"  asked  Clemency.  "  How 
is  it  you  could  leave  your  regiment?" 

"  Alas  !"  said  Joscelyn,  "  I  have  been  forced  to  leave  it 
and  to  exchange  into  a  cavalry  regiment ;  the  old  injury  to 
my  knee  has  been  giving  me  much  trouble  ever  since  the 
march  to  Edge  Hill,  and  the  surgeons  say  I  shall  never  be 
fit  to  be  in  the  infantry." 

"  But  I  thought  the  officers  rode  ?" 

"  Only  the  senior  officers.  I  was  but  a  cornet.  Had 
there  been  a  vacancy  in  Goodwin's  horse,  I  would  not 
regret  the  change  so  sorely,  for  that  is  generally  in  com- 
pany with  Colonel  Hampden's  regiment.  But  there  was 
none.  And  now,  through  Colonel  Hampden's  good  offices, 
I  have  been  appointed  lieutenant  to  his  friend  Sir  William 
Waller — a  piece  of  promotion,  but  one  which  I  would  gladly 
have  renounced  had  there  been  a  chance  of  staying  in  the 
infantry." 

"Are  you  on  your  way  to  join  him  now?"  asked  Sir 
Robert. 

"  No ;  I  am  to  return  to  London  by  Friday  night  to  take 
leave  of  Colonel  Hampden  and  bear  him  news  of  you,  sir, 
and  then  at  Westminster  to  receive  despatches  for  Sir  Will- 
iam Waller,  and  to  set  off  westward." 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  Colonel  Hampden  persuaded  you  to 


143 

come  here,"  said  Sir  Robert.  "  If  you  knew  how  we  had 
thirsted  for  something  more  trustworthy  and  complete  than 
the  vague  reports  and  the  news-letters,  you  would  have 
needed  no  persuasion." 

"The  letter  I  brought  from  the  colonel  will  perhaps  ex- 
plain my  hesitation,"  said  Joscelyn,  coloring. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  man,  cheerfully,  "  I  will  read 
it ;  and  meantime  you  will  find  your  way  to  your  former 
room,  for  you  will  be  glad  to  prepare  for  supper." 

Clemency,  having  given  sundry  orders  to  the  servants,  re- 
turned slowly  to  the  parlor,  glad  of  a  moment's  solitude  in 
which  to  enjoy  her  happiness.  That  sober  talk  about  treach- 
ery and  fighting  and  bloodshed  could  not  quench  the  rapt- 
ure which  made  her  eyes  shine  with  a  strange  new  lustre, 
and  wreathed  her  lips  in  smiles,  as  she  crossed  the  deserted 
hall,  pausing  for  a  shy  glance  at  the  steel  cap  which  hung 
on  the  wall,  and  running  away  with  a  mixture  of  shame  and 
amusement  from  the  sight  of  her  own  face  mirrored  in  it. 

In  the  parlor  she  found  her  grandfather  alone,  trying  in 
vain  to  decipher  Hampden's  hastily  written  letter. 

"  'Tis  of  no  use,"  he  said.  "  My  eyes  are  failing,  child, 
and  that  is  the  truth.  Read  it  aloud  an  you  will." 

Kneeling  by  the  oaken  table,  that  the  lamplight  might 
the  better  fall  on  the  paper,  Clemency  read  the  following 
lines  : 

" '  DEAR  SIR, — I  have  taken  upon  me  to  persuade  our 
young  friend  Joscelyn  Heyworth  to  visit  you  again  at  Kat- 
terham  Court,  and  to  bring  you  the  latest  news  of  the  war. 
It  is  with,  great  sorrow  that  I  part  with  him  from  my  regi- 
ment, but  this  is  rendered  necessary  by  his  health.  He  has 
to-day  learned  that  he  is  not,  as  he  deemed,  a  penniless  ad- 
venturer, for  we  chanced  in  the  Strand  to  meet  an  acquaint- 
ance of  his  from  Lincoln,  who  gave  him  the  news  that  his 


144 

godfather,  the  late  Mr.  Gainsborough,  had  bequeathed  to  him 
all  he  possessed;  and  so  he  finds  himself  possessed  of  com- 
fortable means — just  that  which  Solomon  desired  of  the 
Lord,  "  neither  poverty  nor  riches."  'Tis  not  this  source  of 
income,  I  take  it,  that  commends  him  either  to  me  or  to  you, 
but  his  nobility  in  sacrificing  home  and  kindred  and  the 
comfortable  allowance  he  would  otherwise  have  had  from 
his  father.  I  have  learned  thoroughly  to  know  him  during 
these  months,  and  'tis  a  great  hazard,  methinks,  to  see  one 
of  so  sweet  a  disposition  cast  alone  upon  the  world  with  no 
natural  ties.  He  needs  a  home  in  this  distracted  land,  and 
the  assurance  that  there  are  those  who  care  for  his  welfare, 
and  pray  for  the  right  guiding  of  his  career.  I  am  so  per- 
fectly acquainted  with  your  clear  insight  into  the  disposi- 
tions of  men  that  I  doubt  not  you  have  long  ere  this  dis- 
covered all  of  which  I  write,  and  perchance  you  have  already 
perceived  —  though  he  assures  me  this  is  impossible  —  his 
passion  for  your  granddaughter — '  " 

Clemency  broke  down  in  utter  confusion.  Sir  Robert  laid 
his  hand  tenderly  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Do  not  blush  in  that  fashion,  dear  child.  Are  we  not 
alone  ?  Has  Mr.  Heyworth  spoken  of  love  to  you  ?" 

"  Never,  grandfather  ;  never  a  word  !"  said  Clemency. 

"  He  is  an  honorable,  brave  man,"  said  Sir  Robert.  "  But, 
child,  though  'tis  hard  to  ask  you  to  read  this,  yet  I  must 
hear  the  rest  of  the  letter.  Better  that  you  should  read  it 
than  any  other  person,  and  my  eyes  are  too  dim." 

"  There  is  little  more,"  said  Clemency.  "  Mr.  Hampden 
adds: 

"  *  I  am  one  who  owes  much  to  an  early  and  happy  mar- 
riage, and  would  fain  hope  that  my  friend  Mistress  Clem- 
ency may  treat  this  servant  less  severely  than  the  many  she 
has  dismissed.  God,  who  only  knows  the  periods  of  life  and 


H5 

opportunities  to  come,  hath  designed  Joscelyn  Heyworth  (I 
hope)  for  His  own  service  betime,  and  whether  happy  in  the 
possession  of  the  love  he  craves  or  not,  he  will,  I  am  well 
assured,  find  in  his  need  Him  that  Joseph  found  in  Egypt, 
under  whose  wing  alone  is  perfect  safety.  Concerning  pub- 
lic events,  Mr.  Heyworth  will  be  able  fully  to  inform  you. 
Time  is  not  mine  now.  Present  my  service  to  fair  Mistress 
Clemency  and  her  sisters.  And  let  me  ever  be  honored  with 
the  style  of, 

"  *  Your  affectionate  friend  and  servant, 

"'Jo.  HAMPDEN.' 
"  'WESTMINSTER,  Nov.  14,  1642,'" 

"  Well,  my  dear,  Mr.  Heyworth  shall  speak  to  you  to-mor- 
row," said  Sir  Robert,  "  and  to-night  I  will  myself  broach  the 
subject  with  him.  You  will  doubtless  be  glad  of  a  brief  time 
in  which  to  think  the  matter  over." 

He  kissed  her  forehead,  and  Clemency  was  thankful  to 
be  spared  any  reply,  Hester  and  Prue  at  that  moment  en- 
tering. 

Joscelyn's  patience  was  sorely  taxed  the  next  day;  Sir 
Robert  had  willingly  consented  that  he  should  speak  to 
Clemency,  but  everything  seemed  to  combine  to  hinder 
them  from  having  five  minutes'  uninterrupted  talk.  Mrs. 
Arbella  paid  a  lengthy  morning  visit,  servants  appeared  at 
awkward  moments  to  ask  for  orders,  and  as  for  Original 
Sin  Smith,  he  seemed  to  be  ubiquitous,  appearing  in  the 
hall,  in  the  Ghost  Walk,  in  the  park,  in  the  withdrawing- 
room,  always  with  a  specious  excuse,  profound  apologies, 
and  a  sanctimonious  solemnity  of  manner  which  made  Jos- 
celyn feel  inclined  to  kick  him.  But  when  the  twelve-o'clock 
dinner  was  over,  Sir  Robert  kindly  took  matters  into  his  own 
hands. 

"  Clemency,"  he  said,  the  children  and  their  tutor  having 

10 


146 

left  the  table,  "you  might  take  old  Noah  Snelling  that 
cure  for  the  rheumatism  of  which  we  were  speaking  last 
night,  and  maybe  Mr.  Heyworth  would  enjoy  a  walk  this 
bright  day  and  would  escort  you." 

So  the  two  set  out,  shyly  enough  now  that  the  long- 
awaited  time  had  come,  and  though  no  one  interrupted 
them,  they  talked  of  every  subject  but  the  one  which  was 
rilling  their  hearts. 

Noah's  mud  hovel  was  not  far  from  the  southeast  boun- 
dary of  the  park,  a  little  below  the  brow  of  the  hill,  in  a 
wilderness  of  brambles  and  brake-fern.  The  old  man  was 
so  stiff  and  crippled  that  he  could  hardly  stir  from  his  seat 
by  the  peat  fire,  but  his  eyes  gleamed  with  excitement  as 
he  listened  to  Joscelyn's  tale  of  the  war. 

"You  have  a  fine  country  to  fight  for,  young  sir,"  he 
said,  as  they  bade  him  farewell.  "  And  may  the  Almighty 
grant  you  a  good  wife  that  will  keep  your  heart  tender 
through  the  strife."  His  eyes  rested  so  curiously  on  Clem- 
ency that  her  cheeks  began  to  burn,  and  she  was  glad  to 
feel  the  fresh  outside  air  as  they  left  the  close  little  hovel. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is  here !"  she  said,  pausing  on  the 
steep  bridle-path  which  led  up  the  hill.  "  See,  over  yonder 
is  War  Coppice  and  the  Pilgrim's  Way,  as  they  call  it — the 
path  the  Canterbury  pilgrims  went.  I  like  to  fancy  Chau- 
cer's folk  passing  along — the  'veray  parfit  gentil  knight,' 
and  the  clerk  who  spent  all  his  money  on  books,  and  the 
young  squire  of  twenty  years  of  age,  *  as  fresh  as  is  the 
month  of  May,'  with  his'lockes  crull '  and  his  'flower- 
broidered  clothes.' " 

"  And  the  prioress,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  with  her  brooch  of 
gold,  on  which  was  writ  *  Amor  vincit  omnia.'  But  best  of 
all,"  he  added,  offering  his  hand  to  help  her  over  the  rough 
ground,  "  I  like  to  think  of  two  latter-day  pilgrims  on  a 
longer  and  more  serious  pilgrimage.  Tell  me,  do  you  think 


U7 

you  could  be  willing  to  fulfil  old  Noah's  prophecy  and  keep 
my  heart  tender  through  the  strife  ?" 

"  It  needs  it  not,"  said  Clemency,  glancing  up  into  the 
eyes  that  were  eagerly  regarding  her  ;  "  'tis  tender  already." 

"  'Twill  not  be  long  so  without  your  help,"  he  said.  "  You 
little  know  from  what  already  you  have  guarded  me,  or  how 
unworthy  I  feel  to  offer  you  my  heart.  'Tis  presumptuous 
to  hope  where  so  many  have  failed — yet — 

"  Do  not  speak  of  the  others !"  said  Clemency,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  a  scorn  which  astonished  him.  "  There  was 
not  one  disinterested  lover  among  them  all !  Most  of  them 
loved  my  inheritance,  perchance  two  or  three  loved  my  face, 
not  one  loved  me  !  Not  one  !" 

"  How  can  I  prove  that  my  love  is  true  ?"  said  Joscelyn, 
eagerly. 

"  You  cannot  prove  it,"  she  replied. 

There  was  a  silence;  they  walked  together  over  the 
springy  turf,  picking  their  way  among  the  brake-fern.  Jos- 
celyn, not  understanding  those  last  words,  had  grown  grave  ; 
when  they  passed  into  the  lane,  and  there  was  no  longer 
any  excuse  for  helping  her,  he  relinquished  her  hand. 

Then  quickly,  yet  with  a  gentle  grace  indescribable,  she 
deliberately  stretched  out  her  hand  again  and  put  it  in  his. 

"  You  cannot  prove  it,"  she  repeated.  "  But  I  do  not 
want  proof." 

He  bent  over  the  hand  that  had  put  itself  so  trustfully  in 
his,  and  kissed  it  with  a  reverence  and  devotion  which  no 
words  could  have  expressed.  And  Clemency,  weary  of 
suitors  who  did  "  protest  too  much,"  gave  her  whole  heart 
to  this  wordless  lover,  and  was  at  rest. 

It  was  a  late  season,  and  a  few  crimson  and  gold  leaves 
still  lingered  on  the  overarching  trees.  Away  in  the  dis- 
tance framed  by  the  elms  and  oaks  one  could  see  the  roofs 
and  chimneys  of  the  little  village.  Close  by,  an  old  yew- 


148 

tree  stood  out  darkly  above  a  bank  covered  with  sun-dried 
moss. 

"  Let  us  rest  here,"  said  Joscelyn,  loath  to  leave  the  quiet 
little  wood.  "  Why  should  we  hasten  home  ?" 

"  Yes,  let  us  stay,"  said  Clemency.  "  I  love  this  old  tree. 
Only  yesterday  I  gathered  a  spray  from  it  covered  with  ber- 
ries, little  thinking  how  light  my  heart  would  be  when  I 
again  passed  by." 

Joscelyn  wrapped  a  fold  of  his  cloak  about  her  as  they 
sat  hand  in  hand  on  the  bank.  "  You  were  not  light- 
hearted  then  ?"  he  asked. 

She  gave  him  a  sweet  shy  glance  which  clearly  said, 
"  How  could  I  be  when  I  knew  not  what  was  befalling  you? 
I  was  thinking  of  war  and  death,"  she  added,  aloud,  "  and 
of  this  old  tree  as  the  symbol  of  both.  But  now  'tis  the 
symbol  of  love  and  joy  to  us." 

"  And  yet  a  reminder  that  our  love  and  joy  begin  in 
troubled  times,"  said  Joscelyn,  thoughtfully.  "  My  beloved, 
are  you  wise  to  give  your  heart  to  one  pledged  to  serve  the 
country  ?  Pledged  to  fight  till  liberty  be  gained  ?" 

"  Could  I  love  you  were  you  not  pledged  ?"  said  Clem- 
ency. "  Surely  not  so  well,  Joscelyn.  Was  it  not  the  good 
cause  that  first  taught  us  to  know  each  other?" 

"  'Tis  true.     Yet — to  love  you — and  to  leave  you — " 

He  broke  off — his  whole  face  shadowed.  Then  with  an 
effort  he  called  back  his  cheerfulness.  "  We  will  not  spoil 
the  present  with  forebodings,"  he  said,  resolutely.  "  This 
yew-tree  shade  makes  one  think  of  church-yards,  and  of  the 
old  Britons  who,  they  say,  planted  the  yews  for  making 
their  bows.  But  what  do  we  care  for  omens  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Clemency,  "  let  it  be  our  good  omen — the 
sign  of  that  which  outlasts  time  and  change,  the  sign  of  im- 
mortality." Her  thought  seemed  to  fill  him  with  light  and 
comfort.  Love  had  but  just  begun  for  them,  and  it  was 


149 

eternal ;  the  perils  and  wars,  the  strife  and  separation  of 
time,  could  not  cast  more  than  a  passing  shadow  over  their 
pure  happiness.  And  while  overhead  the  robins  sang  their 
autumn  song,  and  the  golden  leaves  floated  silently  down  to 
the  ground,  these  two  in  the  rapture  of  Love's  spring-time 
began  to  understand  something  of  the  true  meaning  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XII 

It  is  the  glory  of  Puritanism  that  it  found  its  highest  work  in  the 
strengthening  of  the  will. — S.  R.  GARDINER. 

ON  the  following  Sunday,  early  in  the  morning,  a  little 
party  of  horsemen  might  have  been  seen  in  another  part  of 
Surrey  making  their  way  from  London  to  the  headquarters 
of  Sir  William  Waller's  army.  In  front  rode  Joscelyn,  ac- 
companied by  no  other  than  Original  Sin  Smith ;  behind 
came  Jack  Morrison  and  three  new  recruits  who  had  joined 
them  at  Westminster.  Original  had  suddenly  received  what 
he  termed  "  a  divine  call  "  to  enter  the  Parliamentary  army, 
and  Joscelyn,  willing  to  do  anything  for  one  connected  with 
Katterham,  had  taken  some  pains  to  procure  him  an  outfit 
and  the  necessary  introductions,  at  the  same  time  trying  to 
conquer  a  certain  prejudice  against  the  man  which  he  felt 
but  could  not  explain. 

"  The  Almighty  has  highly  favored  you,"  said  Original, 
in  his  sanctimonious  voice.  "  Not  only  have  you  received 
many  choice  blessings,  but  you  are  intrusted  with  these  im- 
portant missives  from  the  Close  Committee  to  Sir  William 
Waller,  in  itself  an  honor  for  one  so  young — a  sign,  too,  of 
the  trust  you  inspire." 

"  Nay,"  said  Joscelyn,  who  could  appreciate  praise,  but 
had  a  contemptuous  loathing  for  flattery.  "I  was  merely 
the  messenger  most  ready  to  hand.  Honest  Jack  Morrison 
would  have  borne  them  just  as  well." 

"  They  would  scarce  have  told  a  common  soldier  the  key 
to  the  cipher,"  said  Original.  And  then  he  launched  into  a 


discussion  on  writing  in  cipher,  not  without  a  veiled  attempt 
to  discover  from  his  companion  the  key  to  the  packet  he 
bore  to  Sir  William. 

Joscelyn  was  not  responsive,  however ;  he  seemed  much 
more  interested  in  studying  the  country  than  in  discoursing 
of  ciphers,  and  Original  began  to  rally  him  on  his  fit  of  ab- 
straction. 

"Well,  well,"  the  ex-tutor  remarked,  "'tis  natural  enough 
for  one  in  love  to  be  deaf  to  questions." 

Joscelyn  smiled.  "  In  truth  I  was  thinking  rather  of  old 
times,"  he  replied.  "Do  you  see  the  trees  over  yonder? 
That  is  Farnham  Park — we  are  in  the  neighborhood  of  my 
home.  What  do  you  say — shall  we  bait  our  horses  at  the 
Bush  in  Farnham  ?" 

Original  thought  it  would  be  a  good  plan,  and  they 
entered  the  little  country  town,  and  were  just  turning  their 
horses  under  the  archway  of  the  inn,  when  Joscelyn  sud- 
denly drew  back,  for  in  the  square  yard  of  the  Bush 
he  perceived,  to  his  dismay,  a  number  of  his  father's 
troop  of  horse,  and,  worst  of  all,  caught  sight  of  Jervis 
himself  standing  booted  and  spurred  at  the  entrance  to 
the  bar. 

If  only  it  had  been  Dick,  there  would  have  been  little 
risk  of  a  disturbance,  but  from  the  bitter  hostility  of  Jervis 
no  truce  was  to  be  expected.  Hastily  retreating,  Joscelyn 
gave  the  word  to  make  all  speed  to  the  Holt  Forest;  and 
the  men,  aware  that  they  were  vastly  outnumbered,  urged  on 
their  tired  horses  and  galloped  up  the  quiet  street,  startling 
the  inhabitants,  who  came  hurrying  to  their  doors  and  win- 
dows to  see  what  caused  the  excitement.  The  bells  were 
ringing  for  morning  service,  and  as  they  approached  the 
opening  called  Church  Passage,  Joscelyn  glanced  back 
along  the  street  they  had  traversed  to  see  if  there  were 
signs  of  pursuit.  To  his  dismay,  he  found  that  the  Borough 


152 

was  already  crowded,  and  in  the  sunlight  could  see  the 
flash  of  helmets  and  pikes  and  the  flutter  of  red  ribbons. 

He  shouted  to  his  men  to  push  onward ;  faster  and  yet 
faster  they  galloped  up  the  long  length  of  West  Street,  past 
red-tiled  houses,  past  a  row  of  pollarded  elms,  past  thatched 
cottages,  but  ever  with  the  despairing  consciousness  that 
the  Royalist  troop  was  fast  gaining  on  them.  Two  or  three 
shots  were  fired ;  the  bullets  whizzed  past  them.  If  they 
could  but  get  clear  of  the  town  and  gain  the  open  country 
there  was  yet  a  chance  of  escape.  Just,  however,  as  they 
reached  the  Plough — an  inn  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town — a 
bullet  struck  Joscelyn's  horse;  it  plunged,  struggled  wildly 
for  a  minute,  and  finally  fell  beneath  him.  Then  the  true 
character  of  Original  Sin  Smith  all  at  once  revealed  itself. 
He  glanced  from  his  captain  to  the  Cavaliers,  drove  the 
spurs  into  his  steed,  and  bounded  over  the  hedge  of  the 
nearest  hop-ground. 

When  Joscelyn  gained  his  feet  he  found  that  the  four 
other  men  had  formed  in  front  of  him,  and  summoning  up 
all  his  resolution,  he  gave  the  word  to  fire  on  the  attacking 
party.  His  voice  sounded  hoarse  and  unlike  his  own.  Had 
it  not  been  for  the  thought  of  the  despatches  he  bore  and 
his  duty  to  deliver  them  safely  at  all  costs,  no  power  on 
earth  could  have  dragged  the  words  from  his  lips.  The 
men  fired;  but  the  next  minute  they  were  engaged  in  a 
hand-to-hand  fight,  and  Sir  Thomas  shouted  to  them  to 
yield  on  quarter. 

The  three  recruits,  seeing  that  resistance  was  hopeless, 
allowed  themselves  to  be  taken ;  Joscelyn,  on  foot,  with  his 
back  to  the  wall  of  the  inn,  resisted  to  the  last,  and  Morri- 
son did  not  fail  his  master  until  his  horse  was  killed  beneath 
him,  and  in  the  confusion  he  was  made  prisoner. 

"  Yield,  in  God's  name !"  cried  Sir  Thomas. 

But  Joscelyn  showed  no  signs  of  yielding.     Perhaps  the 


~^  n. 


153 

Hampshire  Volunteers,  who  all  knew  him  and  loved  him, 
were  not  overskilful  in  their  attack,  for  he  parried  every 
thrust,  until  Jervis,  with  an  oath,  pressed  forward  and  dealt 
him  a  terrific  blow  on  the  head.  With  a  stifled  groan  he 
fell  to  the  ground,  and  Dick  flung  himself  from  his  horse 
and  rushed  towards  him. 

"  You  have  killed  him  !"  cried  the  boy,  in  an  agony  of  grief. 

Sir  Thomas  did  not  speak  a  word;  he  dared  not  trust 
his  voice,  neither  could  he  trust  himself  to  dismount,  for  he 
was  trembling  like  a  palsied  man ;  he  looked  enviously  at 
Dick  as  the  boy  removed  Joscelyn's  helmet  and  bent  over 
the  still,  white  face. 

"  He  is  no  more  dead,  sir,  than  the  devil,"  said  Jervis, 
scornfully;  "a  blow  like  that  could  only  stun  him.  Bring 
forward  the  prisoners.  Where  were  you  going  this  Sunday 
morning  in  such  hot  haste  ?" 

"  We  were  going  to  join  Sir  William  Waller's  army,  sir," 
said  one  of  the  recruits. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

"  From  Westminster,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  Doubtless  they  bear  despatches,"  said  Jervis,  with  a 
look  of  satisfaction.  "  This  day's  work,  sir,  will  prove  use- 
ful, an  I  mistake  not,"  he  observed  to  his  father.  "  The 
men's  faces  bear  out  my  idea.  Stand  back,  Dick,  and  let 
me  search  this  cock-a-hoop  young  captain." 

"  You  shall  not  touch  him,"  protested  Dick ;  "  'tis  un- 
fair." 

"  A  plague  on  your  scruples  —  all's  fair  in  love  and  war. 
Stand  back,  I  say." 

But  Dick  did  not  stir.  "  He  is  coming  to  himself.  Wait 
till  he  can  answer  a  question.  Are  you  much  hurt,  Jos- 
celyn?" 

"  My  head,"  said  Joscelyn,  confusedly.  "  What  startled 
the  horses?  Where  is  Clemency?  She  was  here  but  now."  . 


154 

"  You  are  thinking  of  that  day  at  Katterham,"  said  Dick, 
"  before  this  accursed  war  began.  Look  up  —  we  are  in 
Farnham  street." 

With  a  dawning  recollection  Joscelyn  opened  his  eyes, 
caught  sight  of  the  party  of  horsemen,  caught  sight  of  Jer- 
vis  in  the  fore-front  regarding  him  with  an  expression  of 
scornful  curiosity,  caught  sight  of  his  father  waiting  with 
averted  face  at  a  little  distance.  This  last  sight  gave  him 
so  sharp  a  pang  that  even  Jervis  was  struck  by  the  sudden 
look  of  pain  which  could  not  be  hid. 

"  He  is  more  hurt  than  I  thought  for,"  he  remarked, 
drawing  nearer.  "  Dick,  you  fool,  I  tell  you  he  is  my  pris- 
oner, not  yours,"  and  disregarding  Joscelyn's  half -con- 
scious effort  at  resistance,  Jervis  deliberately  unfastened 
his  armor  and  his  buff  coat,  and  in  triumph  drew  forth  a 
pocket -case  and  promptly  opened  it.  "  Despatches  for  Sir 
William  Waller;  just  as  I  thought!"  he  cried.  "But  in 
cipher — of  which,  no  doubt,  Captain  Heyworth  holds  the 
key." 

Joscelyn  with  Dick's  help  had  now  struggled  to  his  feet. 
He  looked  appealingly  towards  his  father. 

"  Come,"  urged  Jervis,  impatiently.  "  Do  you  intend  to 
keep  us  all  day  here  ?  What  is  the  key  to  this  cipher  ?  Say 
but  that,  and  you  are  free  to  go." 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  turn  traitor  ?"  asked  Joscelyn,  in- 
dignantly. 

"  You  are  a  traitor  already,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  passion- 
ately. "  Here  is  an  opportunity  to  return  to  your  allegiance 
and  to  serve  your  king." 

"  Why  did  not  you  let  me  die  ?"  said  Joscelyn,  turning  to 
Dick.  "  It  would  have  saved  us  from  this." 

Dick  with  a  look  of  utter  misery  approached  his  father. 

"  Sir,  he  has  surely  suffered  enough.  For  God's  sake  let 
him  pass.  You  have  the  despatches — now  let  him  go." 


155 

"  What !"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  all  the  more  vehemently 
because  Dick's  words  coincided  with  his  own  desire. 
"  Would  you  have  me  favor  my  own  son  when  he  is  false 
to  his  king  ?  Nay,  indeed,  let  me  rather  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  Brutus.  Jervis,  these  prisoners  had  best  be 
taken  to  Farnham  Castle,  and  Sir  John  Denham  will  know 
how  to  deal  with  —  with  the  bearer  of  this  treasonable 
packet." 

Jervis  assented. 

"  Sir  John  may  bring  him  to  reason,"  he  said,  "  and  he 
appears  to  enjoy  showing  off  the  split  in  the  family.  Come, 
Joscelyn,  you  shall  have  it  to  your  liking,  and  be  made  a 
spectacle  to  men  and  angels.  Buckle  all  five  prisoners  to 
your  stirrup-leathers,  my  men,  and  let  them  walk  in  the 
usual  way  ;  but  lest  the  good  folk  of  Farnham  should  be 
scandalized,  their  officer  had  best  not  be  stripped." 

"Sir,"  protested  poor  Dick,  almost  broken-hearted  at 
this  speech,  "you  cannot  permit  Joscelyn  to  be  dragged 
through  the  town  in  such  a  fashion.  He  is  still  suffering 
from  the  blow  and  unfit  for  it." 

But  Sir  Thomas  had  steeled  his  heart  to  resist  any 
tenderness  to  the  culprit,  and  Dick  only  met  with  a  rebuff. 
All  he  could  do  was  to  get  a  few  words  aside  with  Jos- 
celyn. 

"  Here  is  your  sword,"  he  said,  returning  it  to  the  scab- 
bard. "  No  one  has  yet  ordered  you  to  yield  it ;  and  see 
what  a  dint  Jervis  made  in  your  helmet !" 

"  I  cannot  bear  the  weight  of  it,"  said  Joscelyn,  faintly ; 
"  my  head  aches  too  much.  Give  the  helmet  to  my  serv- 
ant." 

"  If  I  could  only  save  you  from  this  suffering !" 

"  You  cannot,"  he  replied.  "  But  it  is  good  to  see  you, 
dear  old  Dick.  There  is  much  I  would  ask  you  were  my 
head  but  clear." 


156 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  a  burly  soldier,  approaching  him ;  and 
Joscelyn  had  to  submit  to  be  strapped  to  the  stirrup  of  a 
man  whom  he  recognized  as  the  son  of  the  Shortell  black- 
smith. At  any  other  time  he  would  have  perceived  with 
satisfaction  and  some  amusement  the  man's  intense  dislike 
to  the  work  he  was  set  to,  but  now  he  was  too  miserable  in 
mind  and  body  to  observe  it.  Bareheaded,  with  pale,  stern 
face,  his  right  hand  clutching  for  support  at  the  mane  of 
the  horse,  he  walked  down  the  street.  The  way  was  lined 
with  people ;  every  gibe,  every  rough  word,  reached  him, 
and  he  heard  all,  as  it  were,  with  Dick's  ears  as  well  as  with 
his  own. 

"  Good  Lord,  'tis  one  of  the  Heyworths  !"  "  Aye,  aye,  the 
one  that  turned  traitor !"  "  Dragged  his  father's  name  in 
the  mud  !"  "  A  pestilent  Roundhead  !"  "  A  sneaking  hypo- 
crite !"  "  Look  at  him  now  !"  "  He's  not  gained  much  by 
his  treason  !"  "  Down  with  all  rebels  !" 

Joscelyn  turned  a  shade  paler,  but  as  the  horrible  hooting 
and  groaning  grew  more  clamorous  he  shook  back  the  long 
hair  from  his  face  and  drew  himself  up  with  an  unconscious 
dignity  of  demeanor  which  was  not  lost  on  Sir  Thomas. 

"  All  the  time  he  is  the  best  of  the  lads,"  thought  the  poor 
old  father.  Then,  as  Jervis  rode  up  to  him,  he  inquired 
what  was  amiss,  for  the  procession  had  come  to  a  halt. 

"  Sir  John  Denham  has  been  seen  to  pass  on  horseback 
from  the  Borough  to  Downing  Street,"  said  Jervis.  "  They 
say  he  goes  by  the  eastern  gate  to  church.  If  we  dismount 
here  and  go  up  this  passage  we  shall  doubtless  meet  him  in 
the  church-yard." 

The  six  bells  had  ceased  chiming ;  only  the  big  bell  tolled 
solemnly  as  the  strange  cavalcade  walked  up  the  narrow 
alley  and  along  the  flagged  pathway  between  the  graves. 
Sir  John  Denham  was  just  disappearing  into  the  north  door 
as  the  Heyworths  came  into  sight. 


157 

But  Jervis  was  not  to  be  balked.  "  There  will  be  time  to 
make  over  the  prisoners  before  service  begins,"  he  said, 
hurrying  into  the  church.  "  I  will  prepare  Sir  John." 

The  congregation  was  already  assembled ,  but  talking 
was  not  then  considered  unsuitable  in  the  nave,  and  Jervis 
found  no  difficulty  in  explaining  all  to  the  governor  of  the 
castle,  a  middle-aged  man  with  a  sensual  mouth  and  a  high 
intellectual  forehead.  He  was  sitting  in  one  of  the  front 
seats,  near  the  pulpit,  and  came  out  into  the  middle  aisle  to 
speak  to  Jervis,  watching  with  some  interest  the  strange 
procession  that  had  entered  the  church  and  was  now  ap- 
proaching him — Sir  Thomas  trying  to  seem  unconscious 
and  disdainful ;  Dick,  miserable  and  haggard,  looking  as  if 
he  wished  the  ground  would  open  and  swallow  him-  and 
behind  them  the  unwilling  soldier  leading  the  young  Parlia- 
mentary officer,  whose  buff-coat,  tawny  orange  scarf,  and 
wealth  of  golden  hair  only  served  to  make  his  pallor  the 
more  noticeable. 

That  he  should  be  dragged  into  the  presence  of  this 
peaceful  congregation — that  the  bitter  hostility  of  his  father 
and  brother  should  be  carried  even  into  the  house  of  God — 
seemed  to  Joscelyn  the  last  drop  in  his  cup  of  bitterness. 
Farnham  Church,  moreover,  was  full  of  memories  to  him. 
It  was  here  that  he  and  Dick  had  been  confirmed  five  years 
before,  and  the  contrast  of  the  present  sharp  division  struck 
both  of  them  very  painfully.  Then,  although  the  people 
here  did  not  hoot  him  as  those  in  the  street  had  done,  their 
silent  surprise  and  their  looks  of  scorn  and  disapproval  were 
almost  more  hard  to  endure.  For  Joscelyn  was  no  seasoned 
warrior ;  neither  was  he  clothed  with  that  utter  self-forget- 
fulness  which  makes  some  men  practically  invulnerable.  He 
was  very  young,  very  sensitive,  very  fond  of  popularity; 
the  ordeal  by  fire  would  have  pained  him  infinitely  less  than 
this  walk  up  the  middle  aisle  of  the  church.  The  people 


158 

in  the  transepts  and  the  chancel  stood  up  on  the  benches 
that  they  might  stare  the  better ;  the  occupants  of  the  side 
aisles  craned  their  necks  forward  to  see  this  unusual  sight. 
Joscelyn  was  conscious  of  it  all,  yet  the  worst  pang  awaited 
him. 

"  Sir  John,  as  the  Governor  of  Farnham  Castle,  I  deliver 
to  your  hands  five  prisoners  of  war,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  in  a 
voice  which  betrayed  nothing  of  his  real  emotion.  "  Four 
of  them  wait  without.  Their  captain — formerly  my  son, 
but  now  a  disinherited  rebel — will  yield  up  his  sword  to 
you." 

A  wave  of  burning  color  surged  over  Joscelyn's  face  ;  the 
more  generous  among  the  congregation  felt  genuine  pity 
for  him  as  he  unfastened  his  sword,  and  in  silence,  with  the 
look  of  one  cut  to  the  heart,  handed  it  to  Sir  John  Den- 
ham. 

"  The  rector  comes,  gentlemen,"  said  the  clerk,  bustling 
up  and  motioning  them  to  their  places. 

Joscelyn  glanced  at  his  father ;  their  eyes  met,  but  there 
was  no  relenting  in  Sir  Thomas's  face,  though  all  the  time 
his  sympathy  was  with  his  son  whom  in  words  he  had  dis- 
owned, and  probably  he  had  never  loved  him  better  than  at 
this  moment.  As  for  the  prisoner,  having  met  that  cold 
gaze,  he  saw  nothing  clearly  for  some  time.  He  staggered 
a  little  as  he  stood ;  the  floor  of  the  church  seemed  to  rise 
and  fall  like  the  deck  of  a  ship.  Then  he  felt  a  strong 
hand  grasping  his  arm. 

"Come  to  a  seat,"  whispered  Dick;  "the  service  is  be- 
ginning. At  least  we  are  together  in  this." 

"  Dick  is  still  faithful  to  me,"  thought  Joscelyn  ;  yet,  nev- 
ertheless, the  cruel  words  "formerly  my  son"  rankled  bit- 
terly in  his  heart.  He  knelt  down  in  the  place  to  which 
Dick  had  guided  him,  conscious  of  a  sort  of  relief  in  being 
able  to  bury  his  face  in  his  hands. 


159 

Then,  in  strange  contrast  to  what  had  passed  before,  the 
voice  of  the  rector  of  Farnham  rang  through  the  old 
church:  "To  the  Lord  our  God  belong  mercies  and  for- 
givenesses, though  we  have  rebelled  against  him;  neither 
have  we  obeyed  the  voice  of  the  Lord  our  God,  to  walk 
in  his  laws  which  he  set  before  us.  ...  Dearly  beloved 
brethren — " 

Joscelyn  heard  no  more  of  the  exhortation.  Still  kneeling 
with  hidden  face,  he  had  passed  beyond  the  thought  of  the 
present  distress  and  separation,  and  had  firmly  grasped  the 
idea  of  an  eternal  kinship  which  was  absolutely  indestructi- 
ble— a  kinship  against  which  the  passing  blows  of  envy, 
hatred,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness  were  powerless  to 
prevail. 

Sir  Thomas  and  many  of  the  people  were  much  surprised 
when  the  prisoner,  who  had  knelt  from  the  beginning  of  the 
service  like  one  too  miserable  and  crushed  to  heed  what 
was  passing,  stood  up  promptly  the  moment  the  "  Venite  " 
was  given  out,  singing  as  if  he  did  indeed  "  heartily  rejoice 
in  the  strength  of  our  salvation."  They  were  utterly  puzzled. 
Dick  alone  understood,  and  realized  that  it  was  just  what 
might  have  been  expected  of  Joscelyn. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  very  few  paid  much  attention  to 
the  rector's  dry  dogmatic  sermon.  The  people  were  occu- 
pied in  staring  at  the  prisoner.  Old  Sir  Thomas  mused 
sadly  over  his  son's  political  views,  and  wondered  how  it 
could  have  come  to  pass  that  a  child  of  his  should  make 
the  disastrous  mistake  of  fighting  for  that  misleading  will- 
o'-the-wisp  called  liberty  and  freedom  of  conscience,  when 
Church,  father,  and  self-interest  all  would  have  urged  him 
to  think  only  of  the  divine  right  of  kings.  With  bitterness 
of  soul  he  watched  the  resolute  face  of  the  prisoner,  and 
asked  himself  what  he  had  done  that  this  grievous  trial 
should  be  laid  upon  him  by  one  of  his  own  children. 


i6o 

"I  have  been  no  Eli,  weakly  spoiling  the  lads,"  he  thought. 
"  I  have  been  loyal  to  my  God  and  to  my  King,  and  yet  the 
flower  of  the  flock  has  left  my  fold." 

Jervis,  on  the  other  hand,  was  absorbed  in  plans  for  his 
brother's  further  humiliation  -,  Dick  was  wondering  how  he 
could  best  secure  a  talk  with  Joscelyn  at  the  castle ;  and 
Joscelyn  himself  sat  rigidly  still,  hearing  no  single  word 
that  was  said,  but  living  over  again  a  hundred  past  scenes. 
When  the  rector  ceased  and  the  congregation  rose  he  start- 
ed up  in  confusion,  returning  to  a  very  miserable  conscious- 
ness of  all  that  awaited  him.  Jervis's  unbrotherly  plan  was, 
however,  frustrated.  Sir  John  Denham  took  no  heed  of  his 
suggestion,  but  motioning  to  a  young  officer  of  his  party, 
who  had  watched  the  proceedings  with  considerable  inter- 
est, spoke  a  few  words  in  his  ear,  and  then  introduced  him 
courteously  to  Joscelyn. 

"  My  kinsman — Mr.  Arthur  Denham — will  take  charge  of 
you,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  he  said. 

No  one  could  have  desired  a  more  pleasant  jailer,  and 
Joscelyn  ran  the  gantlet  of  the  spectators  both  in  church 
and  church-yard  with  but  little  discomfort,  for  he  walked 
between  Dick  and  the  governor's  young  kinsman,  who 
seemed  bent  on  making  things  easy  for  him.  At  the  east- 
ern gate  of  the  church -yard  there  was  a  brief  pause;  he 
suddenly  remembered  that  he  might  not  see  Dick  again, 
and  passing  his  hand  over  his  aching  forehead,  tried  hard 
to  collect  his  thoughts. 

"  I  am  losing  what  may  be  our  last  moments  together,"  he 
said,  miserably.  "  Yet  for  the  life  of  me,  Dick,  I  can't  talk." 

"  You  are  still  feeling  the  effects  of  the  blow,  and  no  won- 
der," said  Dick.  "You  look  fit  for  nothing  but  bed.  As 
for  talking,  we  may  yet,  with  Mr.  Denham's  permission,  get 
time  for  that  presently  at  the  castle,  to  which,  if  I  can  pre- 
vent it,  you  shall  not  be  dragged  on  foot." 


"  Faith,  I  should  think  not !"  said  Arthur  Denham,  his 
brown  eyes  kindling,  and  his  dark  face  flushing  at  the  re- 
membrance of  Sir  John's  hurried  account  of  Jervis  Hey- 
worth's  malice.  "  My  horse  is  at  your  disposal,"  he  said, 
looking  with  mingled  curiosity  and  sympathy  at  the  prisoner. 
"Or,  stay,  here  is  my  brother  William,  who  will  be  glad 
enough  to  lend  his." 

William  Denham,  a  clever-looking  lad  of  seventeen,  was 
only  too  happy  to  be  released  from  attendance  on  his  kins- 
man, the  governor.  He  cared  nothing  for  politics,  being  a 
keen  naturalist,  and  far  more  intent  on  securing  moths  and 
butterflies  than  prisoners  of  war.  With  much  satisfaction 
he  received  his  brother's  permission  to  go  down  to  the  river 
after  some  specimens  he  was  bent  on  finding  ;  and  Joscelyn, 
mounting  his  horse,  was  taken  through  the  town,  past  the 
familiar  market-place,  and  up  the  broad  picturesque  Castle 
Street. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

And  there  is  a  frown  of  hate, 
And  there  is  a  frown  of  disdain, 

And  there  is  a  frown  of  frowns 
Which  you  strive  to  forget  in  vain. 

— BLAKE. 

FARNHAM  CASTLE,  which  had  been  built  during  the  civil 
wars  in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen,  had  for  some  time  been 
the  residence  of  the  bishops  of  Winchester,  but  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war  it  had  been  turned  into  a  garrison  by  the 
King's  Commissioners  of  Array.  It  was  a  most  imposing 
building,  with  its  old  gray  walls,  its  more  modern  entrance- 
tower  and  keep  of  red  brickwork  ornamented  with  lozenges 
of  blue,  and  its  gate-house,  where  a  practised  eye  could  have 
discovered  a  vulnerable  point  of  attack.  The  afternoon  had 
clouded  over,  and  the  place  looked  gloomy  and  forbidding 
enough ;  Joscelyn's  heart  sank  as  he  passed  up  the  stone 
steps  which  led  under  a  porch  to  the  main  entrance,  and 
glanced  at  the  warders  and  the  men-at-arms,  and  wondered 
whether  the  castle  was  strongly  garrisoned. 

Sir  John  Denham,  who  had  entered  first  with  Sir  Thomas 
Heyworth  and  Jervis,  turned  towards  his  prisoner  as  he 
came  into  the  old  banqueting- hall,  addressing  him  very 
pleasantly.  "  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  to  be  in  the  position 
of  jailer  to  you,  Mr.  Heyworth ;  but  we  will  endeavor  to 
make  your  confinement  as  little  irksome  as  may  be  if  you 
will  give  us  your  word  not  to  attempt  to  escape." 

Joscelyn  thanked  him,  and  gave  the  necessary  promise. 

"  I  see  you  are  much  spent,"  said  Sir  John.  "  Let  us  dine 
at  once,  and  afterwards  I  will  put  a  few  questions  to  you." 


"  Pardon  me,  Sir  John,"  said  old  Sir  Thomas,  his  color 
rising  and  his  voice  trembling,  "  but  I  must  decline  to  sit 
down  to  table  with  that  rebel.  I  beg  you  will  examine  him 
at  once  as  to  the  treasonable  correspondence,  and  then  I 
and  my  two  sons  will  go  on  to  Shortell." 

Joscelyn  winced.  The  speech  made  him  feel  as  if  he 
were  a  sort  of  leper. 

"  Pray  do  not  think  of  continuing  your  journey  to-day," 
said  Sir  John.  "  I  will,  if  you  please,  question  Mr.  Hey- 
worth  at  once,  and  he  can  dine  elsewhere ;  but  I  cannot 
permit  you  to  leave  us  so  hastily.  You  will  all,  I  hope,  be 
my  guests,  at  any  rate,  till  the  morrow." 

Sir  Thomas  was  fain  to  consent  to  the  arrangement. 
Dick  brightened  a  little,  foreseeing  that  he  was  now  secure 
of  some  hours  with  his  brother;  but  Joscelyn  was  too 
wretched  to  take  any  comfort  from  the  thought.  His  fa- 
ther's persistent  enmity  weighed  heavily  on  him.  More- 
over, something  in  the  great  hall,  with  its  old  windows  and 
its  dark  oak  galleries,  made  him  think  of  Hampden  House, 
and  he  felt  a  sick  longing  for  his  leader's  genial  face  and 
winning  manner  and  strong,  wise  sympathy.  A  sense  of 
utter  loneliness  overpowered  him,  as,  obeying  a  signal  from 
Sir  John  Denham,  he  followed  him  across  the  flagged  floor 
to  the  open  hearth,  where,  upon  the  brass  dogs,  lay  a  heap 
of  blazing  wood.  On  the  chimney-piece  was  traced  the 
legend,  A  Dieu  foi,  aux  amis  foyer.  Sir  Thomas  and  the 
governor  took  their  places  on  the  oak  settle  drawn  up  to 
the  left  side  of  the  fire ;  Jervis  was  behind  them,  and  a  lit- 
tle in  the  background  near  a  low  side  gallery  were  Arthur 
Denham  and  Dick.  Facing  them  all  stood  Joscelyn  alone. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  said  the  governor,  taking  up  the 
small  letter-case  which  Jervis  had  discovered,  "  this  commu- 
nication, which,  I  see,  is  in  cipher,  is  directed  to  Sir  William 
Waller,  and  was  found  upon  your  person.  I  know  that 


1 64 

you  and  your  men  came  yesterday  from  Westminster ;  from 
whose  hands  did  you  receive  this  ?" 

"From  the  hands  of  Mr.  Pym,"  replied  Joscelyn. 

At  the  hated  name  of  Pym  the  faces  of  all  present 
changed.  Sir  Thomas  swore  a  great  oath,  and  Sir  John 
Denham's  manner  became  a  little  less  urbane. 

"  King  Pym !"  he  ejaculated,  glancing  towards  Jervis, 
who,  with  scarcely  veiled  triumph,  stood  watching  Josce- 
lyn's  troubled  face. 

"  Was  any  one  else  present  ?" 

"  Mr.  John  Hampden." 

"  No  one  besides  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"Were  you  made  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  the 
missive  ?" 

"  I  was  not." 

"  Do  you  know  the  key  to  this  cipher  ?" 

Joscelyn  made  no  reply. 

"  I  repeat,  were  you  intrusted  with  the  key-word  ?" 

Still  Joscelyn  kept  silence.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
flagged  floor ;  his  face  had  grown  set  and  stern. 

"  Your  silence  gives  consent,"  said  Sir  John,  irritated  by 
the  prisoner's  obstinacy.  "  I  fully  understand  that  you  can 
read  the  despatch." 

"  Sir,  that  is  precisely  what  I  cannot  do,"  said  Joscelyn, 
looking  up,  and  speaking  emphatically. 

"  Yet  you  know  the  key-word  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  cannot  read  the  letter?"  said  Sir  John,  sarcas- 
tically. 

"No,  for  'tis  against  my  honor  and  conscience  to  do  so." 

"  Honor !"  broke  in  Sir  Thomas.  "  Oh,  ye  gods  !  That 
such  as  you  should  dare  to  speak  of  honor !" 

Sir  John   turned  with  a  laugh  to  Jervis.     "  Your  good 


165 

brother  Zeal -of -the -land  Busy  is  indeed  'zealous  for  the 
cause.' " 

"As  a  dog  for  a  bone,"  retorted  Jervis,  readily  taking  up 
the  quotation  from  "  Bartholomew  Fair." 

"  I  wish,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  governor,  turning  with 
his  mocking  smile  to  the  prisoner,  "  that  you  would  think 
less  of  your  own  honor,  and  instead  obey  the  Bible  precept, 
'  Honor  the  King,'  by  furnishing  us  with  this  key-word." 

Indignation  lit  up  Joscelyn's  face.  With  dilated  eyes  and 
a  voice  whose  vibrating  tones  wakened  responsive  echoes 
in  Dick's  heart,  he  turned  passionately  to  the  governor. 

"  I  will  try,  sir,  to  ;  honor  all  men,'  but  it  is  hard  to 
honor  those  who  deliberately  tempt  a  messenger  to  be  false 
to  a  trust." 

Sir  John  looked  uncomfortable.  "  You  forget,  Mr.  Hey- 
worth,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  that  we  are  living 
in  times  of  war.  In  most  countries  one  in  your  position 
would  be  tortured  for  refusing  to  read  this  despatch.  Even 
now  there  are  some  who  would  perchance  employ  torture." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Jervis  ;  "  worthy  men  employed  it  but  a 
few  years  since.  Time  is  saved,  valuable  information  gained, 
and  no  one  is  the  worse — the  prisoner  merely  suffers  for  a 
few  minutes  instead  of  dragging  through  weeks  or  months 
of  imprisonment." 

"Yes,  I  would  have  you  consider  the  thought  of  impris- 
onment," said  the  governor.  "  For  although  I  will  certainly 
do  my  best  for  you  here,  yet  elsewhere  you  will  meet  with 
less  lenient  governors,  and  months  or  years  of  imprison- 
ment at  your  age  will  be  no  light  punishment." 

Then  Dick  suddenly  sprang  forward.  "  Joscelyn,"  he  cried, 
"  for  God's  sake,  yield  !  Don't  you  see  that  you  are  in  their 
power,  that  they  can  do  anything  with  you  ?" 

"  What,  you,  Dick — even  you  ?"  said  Joscelyn,  reproach- 
fully. His  face  grew  whiter,  his  lips  quivered  with  pain. 


1 66 

"We  do  but  waste  time,"  said  Jervis,  impatiently.  "  Really, 
Sir  John,  'tis  hard  that  loyal  gentlemen  should  be  kept  wait- 
ing for  dinner.  Will  you  not  order  the  roast  from  the  kitchen 
and  the  thumb-screw  from  the  armory  ?V 

He  laughed  at  his  own  pleasantry,  but  no  one  else  even 
smiled.  Old  Sir  Thomas,  however,  started  to  his  feet  and 
fixed  his  keen  blue  eyes  on  Joscelyn. 

"  Torture  is  illegal,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  trembled 
with  strong  feeling,  "  but  I  understand  that  it  is  still  lawful 
for  a  father  to  curse  his  son.  May  the  Almighty  desert  you 
in  the  day  of  judgment  as  you  have  deserted  your  King ; 
may  He  turn  from  you  as  you  have  turned  from  me ;  may 
my  curse — 

He  was  interrupted. 

"  Do  you  say  that  torture  is  illegal  ?"  cried  Joscelyn,  in  a 
voice  that  rang  through  the  hall.  "  Do  you  think  you  are 
not  torturing  me  ?" 

The  silence  that  followed  was  broken  by  a  gasping  sound 
like  the  sob  of  a  hunted  animal,  and  Sir  Thomas  Heyworth's 
curse  was  never  completed,  for  the  prisoner  staggered,  then 
fell  heavily  to  the  ground,  where  he  lay  like  one  dead. 

The  old  baronet,  assuming  an  air  of  indifference,  dropped 
back  to  his  former  position  on  the  oak  settle,  and  made  a 
show  of  warming  himself  at  the  fire.  But  his  thoughts  were 
all  the  time  with  Joscelyn,  and  not  a  detail  of  the  scene  es- 
caped him  when  the  men-at-arms  roughly  lifted  up  the 
prisoner  and  bore  him  out  of  the  hall.  He  saw  the  helpless 
droop  of  the  head,  the  deathly  face ;  he  saw,  too,  with  a 
pang  of  wrath,  the  ends  of  the  orange  scarf,  the  symbol  of 
their  division,  sweeping  the  white  flag- stones  as  the  men 
moved  towards  the  door.  Arthur  Denham  followed,  and 
Dick  clearly  longed  to  follow  too,  but  this  was  more  than 
Sir  Thomas  could  endure.  He  would  fain  have  gone  him- 
self, but  that  Dick  should  enjoy  what  he  felt  bound  to  fore- 


167 

go  was  intolerable.  He  called  him  sharply  back,  and  the 
boy,  with  a  look  of  misery  which  moved  Sir  John  Denham's 
compassion,  was  forced  to  obey. 

"  Bide  your  time,"  said  Sir  John,  in  a  good-natured  aside. 
"  You  shall  see  your  brother  later  on.  Pity  that  so  gallant 
a  youth  should  be  on  the  wrong  side." 

In  the  meantime  Joscelyn  began  to  be  dimly  conscious 
that  he  was  being  carried  up  a  winding  staircase,  then  along 
a  passage.  Finally  above  the  tramp  of  his  bearers  he  heard 
a  voice  saying : 

"  To  the  inner  room.     Lay  him  on  my  bed." 

There  seemed  to  be  some  question  about  keeping  guard, 
for  the  same  voice  replied  : 

"  No  need  ;  he  is  on  parole.     You  may  go." 

Then  the  door  closed,  and  he  thought  himself  alone,  till 
he  felt  a  hand  deftly  unfastening  his  corselet  and  untying 
the  strings  of  his  collar. 

"  Dick,"  he  murmured,  without  opening  his  eyes. 

"  You  shall  see  him  by-and-by,"  said  the  same  voice. 

Joscelyn  looked  up,  and  met  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  kindly 
brown  eyes,  which  lighted  up  a  thoughtful,  refined  face 
shaded  by  dark  curls. 

For  a  minute  he  was  perplexed,  then  all  that  had  passed 
flashed  back  into  his  mind,  and  a  spasm  of  pain  convulsed 
his  face. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  said,  with  a  shudder.  "  This  is 
Farnham  Castle.  They  said  they  were  not  torturing  me. 
What" — he  gave  a  short  laugh,  much  like  a  sob — "what 
do  you  think  ?" 

"I  thought  it  was  worse  than  the  thumb-screw,"  said 
Arthur  Denham.  "  But  don't  speak  of  it.  It  is  over,  and 
some  amongst  us  honored  you  for  your  resistance,  though  it 
made  us  wish  all  the  more  that  you  were  on  our  side.  But 
you  are  faint — I  will  tell  them  to  bring  you  food  and  wine." 


1 68 

"  I  could  not  eat,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "  my  head  aches  too 
much." 

Arthur  Denham  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  and,  filling 
a  goblet  of  water,  brought  it  to  his  charge.  Then  promis- 
ing to  bring  Dick  at  the  first  opportunity,  he  left  the  pris- 
oner and  returned  to  the  banqueting-hall,  where  he  was 
beset  by  questions. 

"  As  for  his  head,  I  am  responsible  for  that,"  said  Jervis. 
"  It  would  have  been  more  to  the  purpose  had  I  hit  a  trifle 
harder.  In  a  brain-fever  he  might  easily  have  parted  with 
the  secret  of  this  damned  key-word." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Sir  John,  "  leave  him  to  me.  If  you 
invoke  the  aid  of  Bacchus,  who  knows  but  the  hospitality 
of  Farnham  Castle  may  bring  about  the  discovery?  He  is 
not  the  sort  of  lad  to  yield  to  threats." 

Jervis  laughed.  But  Sir  Thomas  looked  ill-pleased,  and 
hardly  spoke  throughout  the  meal.  By-and-by,  when  the 
servants  had  withdrawn,  and  both  Sir  John  and  Jervis  were 
far  from  sober,  he  made  an  excuse  to  leave  the  table,  and 
beckoning  Arthur  Denham  to  the  end  of  the  hall,  asked  to 
be  taken  to  the  prisoner. 

"  After  all,  perchance  Sir  John  is  right,  and  we  went  the 
wrong  way  to  work  with  the  lad  ;  I  have  been  perhaps  over- 
harsh  with  him,"  he  said.  "  I  will  try  what  argument  will 
do." 

"  Heaven  help  the  poor  fellow !"  thought  Arthur  Den- 
ham. "  I  would  as  lief  argue  with  a  mule  as  with  Sir 
Thomas." 

But  it  was  impossible  to  make  any  objection  to  the  pro- 
posal of  the  old  baronet;  and  having  taken  him  to  the  door 
of  the  outer  room,  the  young  man  left  him  to  his  own  de- 
vices, and  returned  to  the  gallery  to  talk  things  over  with 
Dick. 

Sir  Thomas   closed   the  door  of  the   anteroom  behind 


him,  and  listened  for  a  moment.  All  was  still.  The  door 
of  the  inner  room  had  been  left  open  ;  he  passed  quietly  in 
and  looked  round.  On  the  bed  in  the  corner  lay  Joscelyn. 
Worn  out  with  all  he  had  gone  through,  he  had  fallen  fast 
asleep,  and  he  lay  now  in  that  absolute  calm  which  smooths 
out  of  the  face  all  care,  anxiety,  and  distress  ;  he  looked  the 
veriest  boy,  utterly  unlike  the  harassed  man  who  had  stood 
but  an  hour  ago  in  the  banqueting-hall. 

"  His  youth  is  an  excuse,"  thought  Sir  Thomas.  "  He 
has  been  led  astray  by  wily  deceivers.  I  shall  surely  con- 
vince him  by  patient  argument.  If  I  can  but  be  patient ! 
Wake,  my  son,  wake  !"  he  cried. 

But  Joscelyn  did  not  stir. 

"  So  soundly  asleep,"  thought  Sir  Thomas.  "  Only  a 
boy  could  sleep  like  that !  What  would  I  not  give  for  the 
power !  Sir  John  shall  not  try  to  corrupt  him ;  I  will  not 
hear  of  it !  Not  that  he  could  succeed.  Joscelyn  has  too 
much  self-control — with  Jervis  it  would  be  easy  enough. 
Great  God  !  Why  was  it  not  Jervis  who  forsook  me  ?  Why 
was  it  the  best  of  the  lads — the  very  best  ?  But  I  will  con- 
vince him  yet.  I  will  show  him  his  error.  Wake  up,  Josce- 
lyn," he  repeated,  laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Wake 
up,  my  son." 

Joscelyn  opened  his  eyes,  caught  sight  of  his  father's 
softened  face,  felt  the  pressure  of  his  hand,  and  with  a  rapt- 
urous sense  of  relief  thought  their  estrangement  was  at  an 
end.  "  Father,"  he  cried,  springing  up,  "  I  knew  it  could 
not  separate  us  !  Thank  God,  you  have  come !" 

"  You  see  your  mistake  ?"  asked  Sir  Thomas,  eagerly. 
"You  will  join  me  in  fighting  for  the  right?" 

The  light  died  out  of  Joscelyn's  face.  Overwhelmed  with 
disappointment,  he  turned  away.  "  Alas  !"  he  said,  "  that 
is  the  very  point  on  which  we  differ." 

"  But  how  is  it  possible  to  differ  as  to  actual  right   and 


170 

wrong  ?"  said  Sir  Thomas,  with  a  desperate  effort  at  pa- 
tience. "All  truth-loving,  God-fearing  people  must  think 
alike  as  to  the  duty  of  loyalty  to  the  King  and  to  the 
Church." 

"  But  when  they  see  the  King  and  the  Church  false  to 
their  trust — abusing  their  position — then  they  must  defend 
the  right,"  said  Joscelyn. 

"False  to  their  trust,  do  you  say?"  cried  Sir  Thomas, 
furiously.  "  You  presumptuous,  arrogant  fool  !  The  pow- 
ers that  be  are  ordained  of  God.  Do  you  not  remember 
the  words  of  the  Apostle  ?" 

"Nevertheless,  God  brought  to  an  end  the  rule  of  the 
very  emperors  of  whom  the  Apostle  wrote,"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  Would  you  compare  our  most  Christian  Sovereign  to 
the  Caesars  ?"  cried  Sir  Thomas.  "  Our  most  religious  and 
gracious  King !  I  tell  you,  your  views  are  abominable  ! 
The  King  can  do  no  wrong." 

"  You  say  so,"  said  Joscelyn,  bitterly.  "  Yet  had  we 
been  as  untruthful,  even  as  mere  lads,  you  would  have 
flogged  us.  His  Majesty  keeps  faith  neither  with  friends 
nor  foes." 

Sir  Thomas  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  making  heroic 
efforts  to  restrain  his  anger.  "  I  must  be  calm — I  will  be 
calm,"  he  thought.  "  He  is  deceived  ;  I  must  try  to  reason 
with  him.  Others  are  more  to  be  blamed  who  have  filled 
his  head  with  these  false  notions  of  liberty.  I  will  entreat 
him  to  turn  while  yet  there  is  time.  The  boy  loves  me. 
He  will  surely  see  his  error  and  turn  if  I  can  but  humble 
myself  to  entreat  him." 

He  glanced  towards  the  window.  The  room  was  in  an 
angle  of  the  tower  above  the  entrance,  and  Joscelyn  stood 
looking  out  over  the  battlemented  walls  and  across  the  bare 
hop-grounds  to  the  green  hills  beyond.  In  the  valley  be- 
tween lay  the  picturesque  little  town  of  Farnham,  the  white 


stone  tower  of  the  church  rising  high  above  the  red-tiled 
houses.  The  bells  were  ringing  for  afternoon  service  ;  their 
cheerful  sound  fell  strangely  and  sadly  on  the  prisoner's  ear. 
The  dreary  conviction  that  nothing  would  ever  make  men 
of  one  mind  in  this  world,  that  to  the  end  of  time  there  must 
be  divided  households,  took  strong  possession  of  him.  For 
a  while  he  lost  sight  of  the  deeper  truth  and  forgot  the 
uniting  bond  of  eternal  kinship. 

"  Josceyln,"  said  his  father,  speaking  very  gently,  "  I 
have  been,  perchance,  over-harsh  with  you.  At  home  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment  I  treated  you  with  much  severity.  I 
came  up  here  thinking  to  argue  quietly  with  you,  but  we 
Heyworths  are  ill  at  that  sort  of  work  and  are  betrayed  by 
our  hot  tempers.  There  yet  remains  one  way  which,  with 
God's  blessing,  may  move  you  to  repent  and  take  the  right 
side.  I  empty  myself  of  all  pride,  and  entreat  you,  my  son. 
If  you  have  any  reverence,  any  love  for  me,  I  beg  you  to 
show  it  by  giving  up  your  rebellious  schemes,  by  refusing 
to  fight  any  longer  with  these  blind  leaders  of  the  blind. 
By  the  love  I  have  shown  you  all  these  years,  I  implore 
you,  my  son." 

Once  more  the  tortured,  hunted  look  came  back  to  Josce- 
lyn's  eyes ;  he  sank  down  on  the  window-seat  and  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

Sir  Thomas  could  see  that  tears  were  dropping  slowly 
down  between  his  fingers  ;  the  sight  encouraged  him.  "  I 
thought  you  would  respond  to  that,"  he  said,  laying  his 
hand  kindly  on  the  bent  head.  "  I  thought  you  were  not 
wanting  in  loyalty  and  in  love  to  me.  Let  us  forget  the  past. 
You  shall  have  a  place  in  my  troop.  We  will  work  to- 
gether." 

Joscelyn  started  to  his  feet,  and  dashed  the  tears  from 
his  eyes.  "  Wait !  wait !  You  mistake  me,  sir.  For  God's 
sake,  father,  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  love  and 


172 

honor  you,  and,  as  far  as  may  be,  will  always  serve  you. 
But  I  cannot  prove  it  by  being  false  to  my  conscience.  I 
cannot  give  up  my  most  firm  convictions." 

There  was  a  painful  silence.  Once  more  the  big  bell  of 
the  church  tolled  sadly  and  solemnly,  as  it  had  tolled  when 
Joscelyn  was  brought  a  prisoner  through  the  church-yard. 

The  glow  of  hope  faded  from  Sir  Thomas's  face,  a  hard 
look  dawned  in  his  eyes.  "  I  have  tried  to  save  you,"  he 
said,  hoarsely,  "  but  you  persist  in  your  wilful  opposition. 
It  is  useless  to  say  more.  Don't  talk  of  love  and  reverence. 
Give  me  deeds,  not  words.  You  cannot  care  for  me,  or  you 
would  not  persist  in  this  wicked,  headstrong  rebellion." 

Joscelyn  stood  absolutely  silent.  Of  what  use  were  fur- 
ther protestations  ?  The  bitterness  of  death  seemed  to 
surge  over  him,  while  down  below  the  great  bell  in  the  valley 
tolled  with  solemn,  heavy  monotony.  Sir  Thomas,  torn 
with  conflicting  emotions,  looked  despairingly  at  the  daunt- 
less face  opposite  him,  at  one  moment  constrained  to  admi- 
ration, at  the  next  filled  with  wrath  and  grief,  and,  above  all, 
with  his  strong  family  pride  mortally  wounded. 

"  I  have  humiliated  myself  for  naught,"  he  said  at  length, 
with  intense  bitterness.  "  I  now  finally  disown  you.  From 
henceforth  you  are  no  more  my  son." 

Joscelyn  choked  back  his  .emotion.  His  voice  rang 
strangely ;  there  was  a  touch  of  triumph  in  his  tone. 

"You  may  disown  me  in  words,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  kin- 
ship is  just  the  one  thing  that  never  can  in  truth  fail." 

Sir  Thomas  could  endure  no  more.  With  a  curse,  inar- 
ticulate from  its  very  vehemence,  he  strode  out  of  the  room, 
banging  the  outer  door  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Yet  deem  not,  on  such  parting  sad 
Shall  dawn  no  welcome  dear  and  glad  : 

Divided  in  their  earthly  race, 
Together  at  the  glorious  goal, 
Each  leading  many  a  rescued  soul, 

The  faithful  champions  shall  embrace. 

— KEBLE. 

A  MINUTE  later  the  door  was  reopened  by  William  Den- 
ham. 

"  What  on  earth  can  have  put  Sir  Thomas  in  such  a  rage  ?" 
he  exclaimed  to  himself.  "  He  well-nigh  overturned  me  in 
his  blind  fury,  and  then  what  would  have  become  of  these 
newts  I've  been  at  such  pains  to  catch  ?  Ho,  Arthur,  are 
you  stirring  in  there  ?" 

He  flung  back  the  half-opened  door  of  the  inner  room,  and 
started  a  little  on  rinding  himself  confronted  by  Joscelyn. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  exclaimed  the  lad.  "  They  did  not 
tell  me  you  were  here." 

The  prisoner  looked  so  unapproachable  that  Will  Den- 
ham's  sole  thought  was  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat,  to  flee  from  a 
trouble  which  he  could  not  understand,  to  escape  somehow 
from  the  stern  almost  haughty  gravity  of  the  Parliamenta- 
rian. But  it  was  a  case  of  more  haste  less  speed,  for  he 
slipped  on  the  polished  floor,  and  came  down  with  an  igno- 
minious crash,  breaking  to  bits  the  wide-necked  bottle  he 
held  in  his  hands. 

"  Good  Lord !"  he  cried  in  great  disgust  as  he  struggled 
up,  soaked  with  water  and  covered  with  bits  of  glass. 
"  There  seems  to  be  a  fate  against  these  creatures." 


174 

His  frantic  dashes  after  the  newts,  which  darted  off  in  all 
directions,  utterly  broke  down  Josceyln's  gravity;  the  sud- 
den reaction  was  too  strong,  and  he  burst  out  laughing, 
entering  with  spirit  into  the  newt-hunt,  and  not  resting  till 
they  were  all  recaptured.  By  that  time  the  ice  was  com- 
pletely broken  between  the  two. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?"  he  asked. 

"  In  the  meadows.     Do  you  know  the  river  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  Dick  and  I  have  fished  there  many  a 
time." 

"  Did  you  ever  find  newts  there  ?" 

"  No.     What  do  you  get  them  for  ?" 

"  I  want  to  experiment  on  them.  They  say  you  can  work 
miracles  with  them." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?"  said  Joscelyn,  interested  with  this 
new  idea. 

"  Why,  they  say  you  can  freeze  them  solid  and  keep  them 
frozen  any  time  you  like,  and  then  by  just  the  right  amount 
of  heat  bring  them  to  life  again." 

"  Do  you  try  many  of  these  experiments  ?" 

"  As  many  as  there  is  time  for,"  said  Will  Denham. 
"But  this  hateful  war  spoils  most  of  my  chances  of  col- 
lecting. I  have  some  fine  spiders,  though ;  come  here  and 
see  them ;  you've  no  idea  till  you  have  lived  with  them 
what  a  lot  of  character  there  is  in  a  spider.  See  this  one 
to  the  left.  We  call  him  Pym,  because  he  is  crafty.  That 
lean  fellow  in  the  web  in  the  corner  we  call  Falkland,  be- 
cause he  is  such  a  recluse ;  and  this  handsome  one  in  the 
right-hand  window-pane  is  Prince  Rupert,  because  he  is 
daring  and  makes  many  prisoners.  I  have  a  cage  full  of 
mice  in  the  anteroom.  Arthur  won't  have  them  in  here ; 
declares  they  smell ;  such  nonsense.  I  don't  know  what  he 
will  say  to  them  to-night  if  he  has  to  sleep  in  the  outer 
room." 


175 

"  Better  put  all  your  prisoners  in  here  together,"  said 
Joscelyn,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  forgot  you  were  our  prisoner,"  stammered  the  boy. 
"  I — I  wish  you  had  been  on  the  right  side.  When  they 
said  in  church  that  they  were  bringing  in  a  Roundhead 
captain  to  the  governor,  I  looked  to  see  some  sour-faced, 
cropped,  canting  hypocrite,  and  could  scarce  believe  my 
eyes." 

"  We  have  some  cropped  hypocrites,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a 
wrathful  remembrance  of  Original's  desertion.  "  And  you 
Royalists  have  some  licentious,  effeminate  cavaliers  with 
scented  lovelocks,  but  the  bulk  of  each  party  is  made  up  of 
brave  and  honorable  men."  He  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Arthur  Den  ham. 

"  I  have  brought  your  brother  to  see  you,"  he  said ;  and 
the  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  before  Dick  had 
rushed  impetuously  past  him  and  thrown  himself  on  Josce- 
lyn's  neck. 

"At  last  I  can  get  to  you !"  said  the  boy.  " What  on  earth 
did  you  say  to  my  father  ?  He  is  walking  to  and  fro  in  the 
hall  like  a  madman,  cursing  you  till  the  very  serving-men 
are  aghast.  'Tis  horrible  to  hear  him." 

"  He  urged  me  to  change  sides.  When  I  showed  him  that 
it  was  an  impossibility,  he  disowned  me  and  cursed  me. 
And  you  ?  Have  you  come  to  argue  ?" 

"  Heaven  forbid !"  said  Dick.  "  For  God's  sake,  don't  look 
at  me  like  that,  Joscelyn,  or  you'll  break  my  heart.  Surely 
you  can  trust  me  ?" 

For  a  minute  Joscelyn  could  not  reply ;  his  whole  face 
quivered. 

"  I  do,  Dick — I  can,"  he  said,  huskily.  For  some  little 
while  nothing  more  passed  between  them.  They  just  sat 
there  side  by  side  in  the  fading  afternoon  light  of  that  No- 
vember afternoon,  heedless  of  their  differences,  mindful 


1 76 

only  that  they  were  together  after  months  of  separation. 
Presently  they  told  each  other  of  all  that  they  had  been 
through,  and  Dick  heard  with  keen  interest  of  the  march  to 
Kineton,  of  the  night  on  the  battle-field,  and  the  rescue  of 
Robin  the  groom. 

"  We  had  given  the  poor  varlet  up  for  dead,"  said  Dick. 
"  But  maybe  after  all  he  will  have  reached  Shortell  in  safety 
before  us." 

"  You  were  on  your  way  home  ?"  asked  Joscelyn,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  Aye ;  we  shall  have  to  go  on  to-morrow ;  to-night  'tis 
impossible,  for  Jervis  is  dead-drunk.  My  father  intends  to 
stay  at  home  to  keep  Christmas,  but  Jervis  and  I  shall  but 
stay  two  or  three  days,  and  perchance  another  few  days  at 
Bletchingley,  before  joining  Sir  Ralph  Hopton's  army  at 
Winchester." 

Home  !  Christmas  !  Winchester  !  The  happy  old  school- 
days !  A  crowd  of  bitter-sweet  memories  filled  Joscelyn's 
mind,  and  with  them  a  wretched  sense  of  isolation.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  thought  of  Clemency  he  could  have  wished 
to  die  then  and  there,  so  hateful  to  him  was  the  thought  of 
being  ranged  against  his  own  kith  and  kin.  But  there  was 
Clemency  to  cheer  his  loneliness ;  there  was  a  brave  wom- 
an's heart  to  strengthen  him  in  the  terribly  painful  life 
which,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  he  had  chosen. 

"  Dick,"  he  said,  "  if  you  go  to  Bletchingley,  will  you  do 
something  for  me  ?  'Tis  not  concerned  with  our  unhappy 
differences.  I  would  not  ask  you  to  do  aught  that  was  not 
honorable.  Do  you  remember  Sir  Robert  Neal's  grand- 
daughter ?" 

"  What,  pretty  Mistress  Clemency  ?  Could  any  man  for- 
get her  ?" 

"  You  will  forgive  me  when  I  make  her  your  sister-in- 
law?" 


1/7 

"Ho,  ho!"  laughed  Dick,  "is  that  the  way  the  land 
lies  ?" 

"We  were  betrothed  but  four  days  since,"  said  Joscelyn, 
pausing  a  little  as  though  to  enjoy  the  sound  of  the  words. 
But  the  happy  light  in  his  eyes  soon  faded.  "  I  parted 
from  her  only  yesterday  morning,"  he  said.  "  Great  God  ! 
only  yesterday,  and  it  seems  like  half  a  lifetime.  How 
shall  we  ever  endure  the  waiting  ?" 

"Courage!  'Twill  pass  better  than  you  think,"  said 
Dick. 

"You  speak  as  if  you  knew  all  about  it,"  groaned  Josce- 
lyn, half  amused,  half  angry. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Dick,  "one  can  draw  upon  one's  im- 
agination at  times ;  'tis  all  a  matter  of  the  imagination,  you 
know,  according  to  the  play,  which  says  the  lover  and  the 
lunatic  and  the  poet  are  all  birds  of  a  feather." 

"  Then,  since  you  with  your  imagination  affect  to  be 
neither  poet  nor  lover,  you  must  be  the  lunatic,"  said  Jos- 
celyn, laughing.  "  But  look,  Dick,  an  you  love  me,  ride  over 
to  Katterham  when  you  are  at  Bletchingley — 'tis  but  a 
matter  of  a  few  miles — and  bear  Clemency  the  latest  news 
of  me." 

"  Now,  by  my  troth,"  said  Dick,  "  I  will  do  no  such  thing, 
unless  you  give  rne  a  letter  to  deliver  to  her.  Would  you 
have  me  say,  *  Fair  lady,  I  fell  foul  of  your  true-love  in 
Farnham  Street,  took  him  prisoner,  and  clapped  him  into 
the  castle,  where  he  now  remains  eating  his  heart  out  ?" 

"The  arrest  was  none  of  your  doing,"  said  Joscelyn. 
"  But  if  they  will  let  me  have  pen  and  paper  I  will  only  too 
gladly  give  you  a  letter  to  take  to  her.  Oh,  Dick  !  Dick !  to 
think  that  you  are  free  to  go  to  her,  while  I  stay  chafing 
here  !  'Tis  enough  to  madden  a  man  !  But  you  must  not 
let  her  think  me  impatient.  You  must  make  light  of  it  all. 
Do  you  understand  ?  Say  that  I  am  in  comfortable  quar- 

12 


178 

ters,  courteously  treated,  and  with  the  kindest  of  jailers,  or 
she  will  be  picturing  dungeons  and  chains  and  horrors  un- 
told. Dick,  I  must  show  you  her  picture." 

Unfastening  his  vest,  he  drew  forth  a  miniature  set  in 
pearls  which  was  fastened  by  a  ribbon  round  his  neck. 

"  It  was  painted  but  a  few  months  ago,"  he  said.  "  Sir 
Robert  gave  a  similar  one  to  Faith,  the  sister  who  was 
married  in  July,  and  this  one  he  gave  me  when  I  left  Kat- 
terham  yesterday." 

Dick  looked  in  silence  for  some  minutes  at  the  strangely 
beautiful  face ;  there  was  about  it  an  expression  of  strength, 
of  repose,  and  the  uplifted  eyes  seemed  to  be  looking  right 
into  heaven,  so  pure,  so  calm,  so  full  of  satisfied  desire 
were  they. 

"  She  is—"  The  word  "  beautiful "  trembled  on  his  lips, 
but  he  hesitated,  for  after  all  it  was  not  the  beauty  of  feat- 
ure which  had  specially  appealed  to  him.  "  She  is  divine  !" 
he  said,  with  a  long  breath. 

"  You  will  bless  me  for  giving  you  the  chance  to  serve 
her,"  said  Joscelyn,  his  face  aglow  with  happiness  as  he  felt 
the  comfort  of  his  brother's  sympathy  and  the  rapture  of 
possessing  Clemency's  love. 

"That  will  I,"  said  Dick.  "But  at  all  costs  we  must 
keep  the  knowledge  of  this  from  Jervis.  'Twas  a  mercy 
he  did  not  come  across  this  miniature  when  he  searched 
you  for  the  despatches.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this  at 
Shortell  ?" 

"  There  was  nothing  at  that  time  to  tell,"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  What,  you  did  not  fall  in  love  with  her  during  those 
weeks  at  the  Court  -  house  ?  Impossible  !  St.  Anthony  him- 
self would  have  succumbed." 

"  I  marvel  myself  how  it  was,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  But  I 
think  I  looked  on  her  then  more  as  if  she  were  an  angel. 
'Twas  she  who  helped  and  served  me ;  she  who  had  that 


179 

love  of  our  country  which  I  had  not  then  grasped  ;  she  was 
my  heavenly  messenger,  and  I  never  once  dreamed  of  her 
as  my  wife.  But  when  my  turn  came  to  serve  and  shield 
her,  when  I  knew  that  she  needed  my  strength  and  that  a 
great  danger  threatened  her,  then — then  I  loved  her.  It 
was  the  night  of  the  attack  on  the  Court-house,  and  I 
thank  God  that  my  baptism  of  fire  was  in  defending  her." 

Dick  listened  with  a  sort  of  envy  to  the  whole  story,  un- 
derstood what  Joscelyn  must  have  suffered  during  those 
months  of  silence,  heard  of  old  Mr.  Gainsborough's  bequest 
with  keen  satisfaction,  listened  with  sympathy  to  all  that 
Joscelyn  could  tell  of  those  last  happy  days  at  Katterham. 
The  room  had  gradually  grown  dark,  but  they  neither  of 
them  cared  for  that,  talking  all  the  more  freely,  perhaps, 
in  consequence.  So  absorbed  were  they  that  they  found  it 
hard  to  bring  themselves  back  to  the  present  when  Arthur 
Denham  entered,  lamp  in  hand. 

"  Will  you  not  come  down  to  supper  ?"  he  said,  address- 
ing his  prisoner.  "  Sir  Thomas  will  take  nothing  more  to- 
night, and  has  already  gone  to  his  bedchamber,  but  the  gov- 
ernor hopes  you  will  both  join  us  in  the  banqueting-hall." 

Joscelyn,  cheered  by  his  interview  with  Dick,  began  to 
remember  that  he  had  tasted  nothing  since  early  morning, 
and  ended  by  making  a  hearty  meal.  Afterwards,  what 
with  writing  his  letter  to  Clemency  and  talking  with  Dick, 
the  hours  of  the  night  passed  quickly  away,  so  that  it  was 
not  until  day  was  breaking  that  either  of  the  brothers  slept, 
and  Arthur  Denham  had  much  ado  to  rouse  them  at  eight 
o'clock,  when  Sir  Thomas  insisted  on  leaving  the  castle. 

"Will  you  bid  your  father  farewell?1'  he  asked,  doubt- 
fully, as  he  ushered  the  two  down  the  winding  stair  and 
into  a  corridor  which  ran  parallel  with  the  great  hall. 

"  I  will,  await  his  wishes,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  But  I  do  not 
think  he  will  see  me.  Dick,  do  not  forget  the  message  with 


i8o 

which  I  charged  you  for  Rosamond.  You  and  I  had  best 
part  here." 

"  Here  in  this  prison  !"  cried  Dick,  impatiently.  "  'Tis 
hateful  to  part  here,  leaving  you  in  such  a  plight.  When 
and  where  shall  we  meet  again  ?" 

"  In  better  times,  let  us  hope,  or  maybe  in  another  world," 
said  Joscelyn,  choking  back  his  emotion,  as  he  saw  that 
Dick  was  on  the  verge  of  breaking  down.  In  silence  they 
embraced  each  other,  conscious  of  a  dread  likelihood  that  it 
was  for  the  last  time,-  then  Dick  followed  Arthur  Denham,  and 
Joscelyn,  turning  away,  paced  the  long  corridor  with  a  heavy 
heart.  A  sound  of  voices  roused  him  from  his  sad  thoughts. 

"  And  pray  why  should  I  see  him  ?"  said  Sir  Thomas.  "  I 
have  disowned  him — he  is  naught  to  me  now !" 

Joscelyn  drew  back  the  piece  of  tapestry  hanging  in  the 
corridor,  and  found  himself  standing  by  a  wooden  balus- 
trade raised  a  few  feet  above  the  level  of  the  great  hall, 
and  not  far  from  the  hearth.  In  bitterness  of  soul  he 
watched  the  group  standing  below  on  the  white  flag-stones 
— Sir  John,  courteous,  bland,  a  trifle  sarcastic  ;  Arthur  Den- 
ham,  doing  his  best  to  console  poor  downcast  Dick ;  Will, 
absorbed  in  watching  the  gambols  of  a  pair  of  spaniel 
pups  ,  Jervis,  just  visible  through  the  open  door,  kissing  a 
rosy-cheeked  kitchen  wench  ;  and  his  father,  standing  hat  in 
hand,  thanking  the  governor  of  the  castle  for  his  hospitality. 

The  courteous  thanks,  however,  broke  off  abruptly,  for  as 
he  took  a  last  glance  round  the  old  hall  Sir  Thomas  sud- 
denly perceived  that  the  tapestry  hanging  representing  the 
reconciliation  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren  was  partly  drawn 
aside,  and  in  the  place  where  Joseph  should  have  been, 
stood  the  vigorous,  muscular  form  so  familiar  and,  spite  of 
all,  so  dear  to  him.  His  rugged  old  face  began  to  work,  a 
mist  stole  over  his  eyes ;  in  dead  silence  he  turned  and  left 
the  castle,  moving  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 


CHAPTER   XV 

There  is  no  true  potency  but  that  of  help  ;  nor  true  ambition  but 
ambition  to  save. — RUSKIN. 

BEHIND  the  stables  at  Shortell  Manor,  and  looking  down 
a  broad  glassy  slope  to  the  moat,  there  stood  a  wood-shed 
where  fagots  were  stored  and  logs  chopped  for  the  house- 
hold fires.  Barnaby,  the  gate-keeper,  too  old  and  rheumatic 
for  much  work,  took  his  daily  exercise  in  this  shed,  an$ 
Rosamond  loved  to  steal  down  and  keep  him  company.  She 
loved  the  smell  of  the  wood,  and  she  liked  watching  the  old 
man's  vigorous  strokes  and  listening  to  his  cheery  talk  be- 
tween whiles.  On  this  particular  November  day  she  had 
come  to  him,  as  so  often  before,  for  comfort,  and  the  old 
man  partly  understood  the  reason  that  her  face  was  wan 
and  tear-stained,  and  her  eyes  inclined  to  fill  every  now  and 
then  as  she  sat  on  the  last  remains  of  the  trunk  of  an  old 
oak-tree,  playing  with  Cymro's  long,  soft  ears. 

"  You  are  wishing  that  Master  Dick  could  have  stayed 
longer?"  said  Barnaby,  resting  his  hatchet  on  the  block  for 
a  minute  and  glancing  at  his  little  companion. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rosamond.  "  And  that  his  stay  had  not 
been  spoiled.  I  thought  at  least  his  return  would  have 
been  happy,  yet  you  see  he  brought  us  this  heavy  news 
of  Joscelyn.  Barnaby,  I  am  weary  of  troubles;  I  should 
like  to  be  just  altogether  happy,  if  it  were  but  for  one 
day." 

"  To  be  free  from  trouble  altogether  is  not  for  us  here,  I 
take  it,"  said  Barnaby.  "The  dumb  beasts  seem  often 


182 

without  trouble,  and  maybe  the  angels,  but  we  betwixt  and 
between  folk  must  take  things  mixed." 

"  'Twould  not  be  so  hard  if  I  could  travel  about  like  the 
rest  of  them.  Everybody  goes  save  me.  There  are  Dick 
and  Jervis  gone  to  Bletchingley,  and  my  father  riding  over 
to  see  Sir  Toby  and  arrange  about  Isabella's  betrothal ;  and 
my  mother  and  Isabella  gone  in  the  coach  to  my  lady 
Blount's.  They  will  not  return  till  Friday,  and  'tis  so  lone- 
some at  the  house." 

"  And  on  the  morrow  even  I  shall  have  to  be  leaving," 
said  Barnaby.  "  I  must  go  to  Farnham  Market  to  sell  the 
spotted  cow." 

"  To  Farnham  !"  cried  Rosamond.  "  Oh,  Barnaby,  take 
me  with  you  !  Dear  Barnaby,  pray  do.  I  could  ride  there 
on  a  pillion,  and  there  is  no  one  to  say  me  nay." 

"  But  you  would  be  no  nearer  Master  Joscelyn  there  than 
here,"  said  Barnaby.  "  For  is  he  not  a  prisoner  ?" 

"  He  is  not  kept  a  close  prisoner,  Dick  said.  I  might 
perchance  see  him  in  the  park  which  is  so  close  to  the 
castle.  Barnaby,  I  think  I  shall  die  if  you  don't  take  me 
—I  truly  do  think  it." 

Her  look  was  so  beseeching  that  it  would  have  needed  a 
much  more  unyielding  man  than  the  gate-keeper  to  resist  her. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  my  lady  would  say  to  it,"  he  ob- 
jected. "  A  market-day  is  not  the  day  for  a  young  maid 
like  you  to  be  seen  in  the  town.  And  how  am  I  to  wait  on 
you,  when  I  have  the  spotted  cow  to  sell  ?" 

"  Let  Robin  ride  over  with  us,"  said  Rosamond,  her  face 
lighting  up  as  if  some  happy  inspiration  had  just  come  to 
her.  "  Robin  is  quite  strong  enough  now  to  ride,  and  you 
know  that  he  would  do  anything  to  pleasure  me  just  from 
gratitude  to  Joscelyn.  While  you  go  to  the  cattle-market, 
Robin  can  take  me  to  the  park,  and  who  knows  but  we  may 
see  Joscelyn  there  ?  Now,  Barnaby,  say  you  will  take  me." 


1 83 

After  some  little  protesting,  and  a  good  deal  of  cajoling 
on  the  child's  part,  Barnaby  consented,  and  Rosamond 
with  dancing  eyes  ran  off  in  search  of  Robin,  the  groom, 
who  about  a  week  ago  had  arrived  at  Shortell.  His  wound 
was  healed,  but  he  still  looked  white  and  haggard  with  all 
that  he  had  been  through,  and  his  wife,  who  kept  house  for 
Barnaby,  protested  that  she  was  glad  enough  he  did  look 
"peaked,"  otherwise  Master  Jervis  would  have  taken  him 
off  again  to  the  wars.  "  Whereas  now,  Mistress  Rosamond, 
his  father  and  me  will  keep  him  here  through  the  winter, 
thanks  to  the  ball  that  hit  him  at  Edgehill  and  to  Master 
Joscelyn's  saving  of  him." 

"  Robin,"  said  Rosamond,  as  the  wife  retired  to  the  house 
to  finish  her  washing,  "  do  you  think  for  love  of  my  brother 
Joscelyn  you  would  run  some  little  risk  ?" 

"  Aye,  mistress,  that  would  I,"  said  Robin.  "  I  would  cut 
off  my  right  hand  for  him  if  'twould  serve  his  turn." 

"Then  listen  to  my  plan,"  said  Rosamond.  "  Early  to- 
morrow your  father  starts  for  Farnham  Market;  he  has 
promised  to  take  me  with  him.  I  want  you  to  ride  over 
with  us  ;  my  pillion  had  best  be  on  your  horse.  Then  while 
Barnaby  drives  his  bargain  over  the  cow  you  shall  take  me 
to  the  park,  fastening  the  horse  up  at  one  of  the  gates.  I 
will  rest  under  the  trees  for  a  while ;  and  you,  being  a 
wounded  soldier  fresh  from  Edgehill,  will  surely  contrive 
by  hook  or  by  crook  to  make  friends  with  some  of  the  gar- 
rison at  the  castle,  and  either  to  get  speech  with  my  broth- 
er or  send  him  word  to  come  without  fail  to  the  great  haw- 
thorn nigh  to  the  southwest  gate  of  the  park." 

Robin  thought  the  idea  might  well  be  carried  out.  But 
Rosamond  had  more  to  follow. 

"  Will  you  keep  a  secret,  Robin  ?  Listen  !  That  is  not 
all  I  want.  If  it  should  happen  that  the  horse  disappeared 
from  the  park  gate — disappeared  in  a  good  cause,  I  mean — 


1 84 

could  you  bear  a  little  blame,  do  you  think  ?  I  would  take 
the  worst  share,  but  some  might  perchance  fall  on  you." 

"  Never  fear  for  the  blame,  mistress,"  said  Robin,  look- 
ing perplexed.  "  But  how  would  you  get  home  again  ?  Be- 
sides, the  town  be  far  too  quiet  for  horse-stealers  and  such 
like." 

Rosamond  laughed  with  delight  at  having  mystified  him. 

"  Never  fear,  Robin.  I  could  walk  if  need  be,  or  ride 
behind  Barnaby;  as  long  as  you  are  willing  to  risk  the 
blame,  all  will  be  well ;  and  who  knows  but  the  horse  may 
come  home  safe  and  sound  ?  You  undertake  to  get  that 
message  to  the  castle,  and  I  will  contrive  the  rest." 

Rosamond  slept  little  that  night ;  for  once  in  her  life  she 
really  was  unfeignedly  happy ;  for  was  she  not  planning 
Joscelyn's  rescue  ?  And  surely,  surely  such  a  well-arranged 
scheme  could  not  miscarry.  Warmly  wrapped  in  her  blue 
pelisse  and  velvet  hood,  she  jogged  along  the  country  roads 
on  her  pillion,  steadying  herself  by  Robin's  belt,  and  ex- 
changing many  a  joke  with  Barnaby,  who  rode  beside  them, 
while  behind  them  the  herdgroom  drove  the  spotted  cow  to 
market.  It  was  a  mild,  still  autumn  day;  the  morning  mist 
had  lifted,  and  the  soft  blue  sky  made  a  lovely  background 
for  the  delicate  tracery  of  branch  and  twig  as  they  rode  un- 
der the  bare  trees  in  the  forest.  Rosamond  sang  for  sheer 
happiness,  now  crooning  to  herself  the  "Bailiff's  Daughter," 
now  breaking  out  gleefully  into  "Under  the  greenwood 
tree."  Even  when  they  came  to  Farnham,  and  she  remem- 
bered Dick's  description  of  the  struggle  outside  the  Plough 
Inn,  she  was  too  much  excited  to  look  with  anything  save 
curiosity  at  the  gabled  house,  with  its  quaint  entrance  steps 
and  balustrade ;  and  in  realizing  her  nearness  to  Joscelyn 
she  forgot  to  shudder  at  the  thought  of  the  way  in  which  he 
had  been  dragged  along  West  Street  only  a  few  days  before. 
Parting  with  Barnaby  at  the  market-place,  they  rode  quietly 


SHE    JOGGED   ALONG   THE   COUNTRY    ROAUS    ON    HER    PILLION. 


[Page  184. 


up  Castle  Street  and  turned  along  the  quiet  alley  which  led 
to  one  of  the  park  gates.  Here  Robin  lifted  her  off  the 
horse,  and  Rosamond,  trembling  with  eagerness,  made  her 
way  up  the  grassy  slope  till  she  came  to  the  old  thorn-tree 
which  she  had  chosen  for  a  trysting-place.  Cymro  stretched 
himself  out  on  the  turf  beside  her,  and  in  an  agony  of  im- 
patience she  waited  for  about  an  hour,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
that  part  of  the  castle  which  was  visible  from  the  park.  At 
length  the  dog  started  up  from  a  doze,  raised  his  head  in 
the  air,  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  finally  bounded  up  the  hill, 
uttering  short  barks  of.  delight.  Rosamond  sprang  to  her 
feet;  she  was  stiff  and  aching  in  every  bone,  but  what  did 
that  matter?  For  Joscelyn  was  coming — Joscelyn,  whom 
she  had  not  seen  since  that  summer  evening  when  he  had 
bidden  her  farewell  in  the  arbor  at  Shortell. 

"Rosamond!"  he  cried,  amazed,  as  he  strode  down  the 
hill  to  meet  her.  "  How  in  the  world  did  you  get  here  ?" 

For  a  minute  she  could  not  speak,  but  clung  to  him, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  dear  little  sister !"  he  said,  kissing  her  again  and 
again.  "  What  good  fairy  sent  you  here  to  cheer  me,  just 
when  I  was  in  the  depths  of  despair  ?" 

"'Twas  no  fairy,"  said  Rosamond,  beginning  to  laugh. 
"'Twas  I  that  planned  it  all,  and  Barnaby  and  Robin  that 
brought  me.  But  we  must  not  lose  time.  No  one  knows 
the  rest  of  the  plan  save  me.  I  have  come  to  set  you  free, 
Joscelyn.  You  must  take  the  horse  you  will  find  yonder  at 
the  gate ;  do  not  stay  to  talk  to  me,  but  fly  while  there  is 
time  !  Go  now  at  once  before  any  one  disturbs  us  !" 

With  softening  eyes  Joscelyn  looked  into  the  eager  child- 
ish face  raised  to  his. 

"  You  dear  little  soul !"  he  said,  tenderly ;  "  did  you  in- 
deed plan  all  this  for  me  ?" 

"Nothing  ever  made  me  so   happy,"  said   Rosamond. 


1 86 

"But,  oh,  Joscelyn,  do  not  linger.  Come  now — come  at 
once.  You  can  unfasten  the  pillion,  and  Barnaby  can  put 
that  by-and-by  on  his  horse.  Come  !"  Snatching  his  hand, 
she  tried  to  draw  him  down  the  grassy  slope,  but  Joscelyn 
drew  her  back,  and  spreading  his  cloak  on  the  turf,  made 
her  sit  down  beside  him. 

"  Wait,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  round  her.  "  How  can 
I  make  you  understand?  Your  plan  was  so  well  thought 
out !  I  hate  to  think  of  the  risks  you  have  run  for  me,  yet 
I  love  you  a  thousand  times  more  for  your  courage  and 
your  loving  little  plot." 

"Pray — pray  come,"  urged  Rosamond.  "Why  do  you 
linger — why  do  you  hold  me  so  fast  ?" 

"  It  is  because  I  am  grieved  to  disappoint  you,  dear. 
But  I  cannot  escape." 

Her  face  fell  so  terribly  that  he  paused  to  kiss  her  with 
a  reverence  which  he  had  never  before  felt  for  his  little 
playfellow.  "You  see,"  he  continued,  "it  is  impossible, 
for  I  am  on  parole;  otherwise,  of  course,  I  should  not  be 
allowed  to  walk  in  the  park." 

"  But  prisoners  always  try  to  escape.  Could  it  be  wrong 
to  try  ?"  she  pleaded.  "  King  Richard  escaped  when  Blon- 
del  found  him." 

"  He  had  not  given  his  word — had  not  made  any  promise 
not  to  get  free  ;  there's  the  difference.  Were  it  not  that  it 
would  be  against  my  honor,  I  would  do  as  you  wish.  But 
you  no  longer  wish  it  for  me.  You  would  not  have  me 
break  my  word." 

Rosamond  burst  into  tears.  "  I  would !"  she  said,  pas- 
sionately. "  What  is  a  word — a  promise — compared  to 
your  safety  ?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  honor ;  'tis 
nothing  real — 'tis  but  a  name." 

"Tis  the  most  real  thing  within  us,"  he  said,  quietly, 
"the  most  divine.  'Tis  the  sense  of  perfect  justice." 


1 87 

"  True,"  said  a  voice  behind  him ;  he  looked  up  and  saw 
Arthur  Denham. 

"  In  good  time,  here  is  my  jailer,"  said  Joscelyn,  smiling. 
"  Denham,  allow  me  to  present  you  to  my  little  sister  Rosa- 
mond." 

Rosamond  sprang  to  her  feet  in  great  alarm,  catching 
sight  through  her  tears  of  some  one  tall  and  dark  towering 
above  her. 

"  Oh  !"  she  cried  ;  "  do  not  be  angry  with  him  ;  it  was 
no  plan  of  his.  It  was  mine,  all  mine.  The  horse  is  wait- 
ing at  the  gate,  and  I  begged  him  to  escape ;  but  he  will 
not.  Pray,  pray  believe  me — he  quite  refused  to  go." 

For  answer  Arthur  stooped  and  kissed  her  wet  cheeks. 

"  You  see,  he  is  the  last  man  to  do  a  dishonorable 
thing,"  he  said.  "  You  had  not  thought  of  the  right  and 
wrong  of  the  case." 

Rosamond  wiped  away  her  tears,  that  she  might  see  this 
gentle- voiced  jailer. 

"  But,"  she  urged,  "  Jervis  says  that  all  is  fair  in  love  and 
war." 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur  Denham,  "and  apparently  he  thinks 
so.  But  the  truest  men  on  either  side  do  not  think  that, 
and  if  my  prisoner  had  taken  your  suggestion  and  escaped 
just  now,  he  would  most  likely  have  ceased  to  be  your  hero." 

"  He  could  not  have  done  it,"  said  Rosamond,  in  a  sad, 
meek  little  voice.  "I  see  now — I  begin  to  understand 
about  the  justice.  But,"  with  a  rising  sob,  "  oh,  Joscelyn, 
I'm  so  dreadfully  tired  !" 

"  You  dear,  brave  little  maid,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 
said  Joscelyn,  in  perplexity.  "The  fewer  that  know  of 
your  being  here  the  better,  or  I  would  beg  the  governor's 
hospitality  for  you — but — " 

"  Let  me  fetch  food  and  wine  for  her,"  said  Arthur  Den- 
ham. 


1 88 


"I  am  not  hungry,"  said  Rosamond.  "And  there  is 
food  in  the  saddle-bags — three  venison  pasties  and  a  man- 
chet.  They  were  for  your  journey,  and  now  you  will  not 
want  them." 

"  We  will  eat  them  together  here,  then,"  said  Joscelyn, 
cheerfully.  "  Who  ever  heard  before  of  a  prisoner  picnick- 
ing in  a  park  ?" 

She  was  soon  coaxed  back  to  serenity,  and  the  three 
ended  by  having  a  very  merry  luncheon  under  the  hawthorn. 

"  I  shall  have  pleasant  memories  of  Farnham  Park,"  said 
Joscelyn,  laughing.  "At  the  other  end  of  it  I  spent  my 
first  night  in  the  open — that  August  Sunday  when  I  left 
you.  Who  would  have  thought  that  in  four  months'  time 
you  and  I  should  be  together  here?" 

"  And,  oh,  how  surprised  the  others  would  be  could  they 
see  us  !"  said  Rosamond.  "  They  are  all  away  to-day,  stay- 
ing at  my  lady  Blount's,  for  Isabella  is  to  be  betrothed  to 
Sir  Toby,  and  my  father  has  gone  to  arrange  about  the  set- 
tlements." 

"  Ho  !  that  affair  has  come  off,  has  it  ?"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  Nurse  says  that  my  lady  Blount  was  set  on  his  marry- 
ing a  Heyworth,  and  I  am  right  glad  that  I  was  too  young." 

"  Will  you  wait  for  me  ?"  said  Arthur  Denham,  looking 
half  mirthfully,  half  tenderly,  at  the  winsome  little  face, 
with  its  halo  of  golden  hair. 

Rosamond  looked  him  over  from  head  to  foot  with  a 
child's  innocent  scrutiny. 

"  Sir  Toby  is  dressed  up  and  finikin,  but  I  think  I  could 
like  you ;  only  you  are  Joscelyn's  enemy — it  would  not  do 
for  us  to  marry." 

"  I  am  not  his  enemy  save  on  questions  of  state ;  other- 
wise we  are  good  friends,"  said  Arthur.  "  Remember,  I 
shall  expect  you  to  wait  for  me.  And  in  the  meantime  you 
must  give  me  a  keepsake." 


"SHE  CLUNG  TO   HIM   TREMBLING." 


[Page  185. 


1 89 

"  But  I  have  naught  to  give  you,"  said  Rosamond,  with 
profound  gravity. 

"  You  might  spare  one  of  these,"  said  Joscelyn,  drawing 
the  sunny  curls  from  under  the  hood.  "And  now  we 
speak  of  it,  I,  too,  would  have  one.  Come,  Denham,  out 
with  your  sword  ;  you  must  be  executioner.  Steady,  Rosa- 
mond ;  I  will  hold  both  ends,  and  he  shall  not  behead  you. 
There !  mine  shall  be  placed  with  Clemency's  picture." 

"  Oh,  Joscelyn,  show  me — do  show  me  her  miniature. 
Dick  told  me !"  cried  Rosamond,  far  more  intent  on  her 
brother's  marriage  than  on  her  own  possible  future. 

Arthur  Denham  wandered  off,  leaving  the  brother  and 
sister  to  an  uninterrupted  talk  about  Clemency  and  all  that 
had  passed  at  Katterham.  When  he  rejoined  them  he 
found  Joscelyn  already  persuading  the  child  not  to  risk  a 
longer  stay. 

"  How  long  will  you  be  kept  prisoner?"  she  asked,  falter- 
ingly,  as  they  led  her  down  the  steep  slope  to  the  gate. 

"  Till  the  fortune  of  war  releases  me,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  It 
may  be  for  weeks  or  for  months  or —  But  when  I  am  free 
I  will  come  and  see  you,  never  fear.  Barnaby  will  house 
me,  doubtless,  and  bear  a  message  to  you.  Why,  there  he 
is,  and  Robin  too.  May  I  speak  with  them  ?" 

Arthur  Denham  gave  permission,  and  tried  hard  to  win  a 
smile  or  a  word  of  recognition  from  Rosamond.  But  she 
had  no  thoughts  save  for  Joscelyn,  and  it  was  on  him  that 
her  blue  eyes  rested  with  a  long  wistful  gaze  as  she  looked 
back  from  her  pillion  before  passing  out  of  sight  of  the  park 
gate. 

"  Heyworth,"  said  Arthur,  as  they  went  back  to  the  cas- 
tle, "  as  surely  as  you  and  I  climb  this  hill  now  together,  I 
have  seen  my  future  wife.  If  I  cannot  have  fair  Rosamond, 
I'll  have  none  other." 

"  Why,  man  alive  !     How  can  you  tell  yet  ?"    said  Jos- 


190 

celyn,  smiling.  "  She  is  a  mere  child  of  twelve — nay,  just 
thirteen." 

"  What  of  that  ?  I  can  wait.  And,  after  all,  by  the  time 
she  is  seventeen  I  shall  be  but  five-and-twenty.  By  then 
our  unhappy  differences  may  be  at  an  end,  and  you,  per- 
haps, will  be  willing  to  put  up  with  such  an  alliance." 

"  Faith,  I  could  wish  nothing  better  for  the  child,"  said 
Joscelyn ;  "  she  has  always  been  neglected  and  harshly 
treated  at  home,  and  an  early  marriage  will  be  the  best 
hope  for  her.  I  only  hope  this  journey  to  Farnham  will 
not  get  her  into  trouble  ;  if  it  should  ever  reach  my  mother's 
ears,  Rosamond  will  be  severely  punished." 

Arthur  looked  troubled. 

"  It  was  certainly  a  rash  plan,"  he  said.  "  Yet  I  cannot 
regret  her  attempt.  Nothing  could  more  plainly  have  re- 
vealed her  character.  Think  of  the  courage,  the  daring, 
the  love,  that  was  needed  for  it !  You  are  a  dangerous 
rival  to  me,  I  fear." 

"  Well,  well !"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  sigh.  "  We  talk  of 
love  and  marriage,  you  and  I,  but,  ten  to  one,  before  the 
war  is  over  we  shall  be  laid  low.  Do  you  remember  the 
look  of  the  battle-field  last  month  at  Edgehill,  with  its  thou- 
sands of  dead  ?" 

"  You  expect  more  fighting,"  said  Arthur  Denham,  "while 
I  have  a  conviction  that  this  cannot  last  long;  the  peace 
we  ardently  desire  will  surely  soon  come.  My  lord  Falk- 
land is  for  peace,  and  so  are  most  of  the  best  men  on  our 
side.  Yet  the  best  on  your  side,  such  as  Mr.  Hampden, 
seem  ever  for  war.  I  don't  understand  the  reason  of 
that." 

Joscelyn  was  about  to  reply,  but  he  checked  himself,  feel- 
ing with  Arthur,  as  he  did  with  Dick,  that  discussion  was 
better  avoided,  and  being  well  assured  that  they  were  each 
convinced  they  were  fighting  for  the  right. 


"  There  is  a  fine  thought  in  your  kinsman's  play  which  he 
lent  me  yesternight  to  read,"  he  observed. 

"  What !  in  the  '  Sophy  ?' "  said  Arthur.  "  There  are  some 
fine  passages  in  it,  though  methinks  the  father's  harsh  treat- 
ment of  the  son  is  unnatural." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Joscelyn,  bitterly.  "  Recollect 
that  he  was  a  Mohammedan,  a  Turk  of  by-gone  and  more 
cruel  times.  There  be  Christian  fathers  not  over-tender." 

"  But  what  was  the  line  you  speak  of  ?"  said  Arthur,  re- 
gretting his  inconsiderate  speech. 

"  'Tis  spoken  by  one  of  the  good  courtiers  entreating  the 
King  to  pause  before  condemning  his  son : 

"  'Till  time  produce  her  wonted  offspring  Truth.'" 

"Have  you  finished  the  play?"  asked  Denham.  "If  not, 
let  us  go  in  now  and  read  together  in  the  long  gallery ;  or, 
better  still,  let  us  persuade  the  governor  to  read  it  to  us 
himself  to-night;  that  will  save  us  from  having  out  the 
cards.  I  wish  he  were  less  of  a  gamester.  Will  and  I 
shall  be  as  poor  as  church  mice  if  this  garrison  life  goes  on 
much  longer,  for  he  detests  our  playing  for  low  stakes." 

"  You  should  turn  Puritan,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  smile. 
"In  Mr.  Hampden's  regiment  no  unlawful  games  were  al- 
lowed, and  a  soldier  caught  swearing  was  bound  to  pay  his 
twelvepence,  and  for  drunkenness  they  were  set  in  the 
stocks ;  as  for  the  officers,  they  were  men  who  had  never 
been  heard  to  swear  at  all,  save  in  a  court  of  justice.  At 
first  it  was  hard  work  to  rein  in  one's  tongue,  I  can  tell  you. 
But  truly  his  regiment  was  worth  far  more  when  it  came  to 
fighting  than  those  where  the  discipline  was  less  strict." 

"  I  would  there  were  more  of  such  discipline  among  us," 
said  Arthur.  "  But  'tis  hard  to  keep  to  moderation.  Our 
side  tends  to  lust  and  license,  and  yours,  methinks,  to  nar- 
rowness and  fanaticism.  Maybe  from  the  conflict  betwixt 


192 

us  will  spring  that  truth  and  temperance  which  you  and  I 
both  desire.  Here  comes  the  governor.  Let  us  ask  him 
about  the  *  Sophy.' " 

Sir  John  Denham  was  pacing  the  terrace  in  front  of  the 
castle ;  his  good-natured  eyes  scanned  the  two  young  men 
from  head  to  foot  as  they  approached. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  hearty  voice, 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  better  case  to-day  •  methought 
yesternight  you  somewhat  resembled  my  hero  the  prince, 
who  could 

"  '  As  well  endure  a  prison,  as  a  wild  bull  the  net.'" 

"  We  were  but  now  speaking  of  the  *  Sophy/  sir,  and  were 
about  to  entreat  you  to  read  us  the  fifth  act  to-night,  if  you 
would  be  so  good." 

"  The  fifth  act  is  not  the  best,"  said  the  poet,  candidly. 
"  Yet  it  opens  with  a  passage  on  happiness  which  you  might 
well  lay  to  heart.  How  say  you,  gentlemen,  if  we  keep  our 
Christmas  here,  why  should  we  not  act  the  play  in  the  hall  ? 
I  dare  swear  that  Mr.  Heyworth,  though  a  Parliamentarian, 
is  no  precisian  following  in  the  steps  of  Prynne,  the  crop- 
eared  attacker  of  the  drama.  Let  us  cast  the  parts ;  'twill 
pass  the  time,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  goes  devilish  slow 
both  to  freemen  and  prisoners." 

This  plan  occupied  them  harmoniously  enough  during  the 
following  week ;  and  Joscelyn,  who  had  been  chosen  as  the 
representative  of  the  prince,  always  connected  the  *  Sophy ' 
with  those  long  days  of  imprisonment,  with  their  terrible 
craving  for  freedom,  their  sense  of  helplessness  and  lost 
time,  their  sickening  anxiety  for  news. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

The  first  thing  you  have  to  see  to  in  becoming  soldiers  is  that  you 
make  yourselves  wholly  true.  Courage  is  a  mere  matter  of  course 
among  any  ordinarily  well  -  born  youths,  but  neither  truth  nor  gentle- 
ness is  matter  of  course. — RUSKIN. 

ONE  bright  frosty  morning  the  prisoner  was  pacing  de- 
jectedly to  and  fro  on  the  terrace,  watching  the  sparrows 
flying  happily  in  and  out  to  their  nests  in  the  castle  porch, 
and  from  time  to  time  looking  at  the  two  sundials  fixed  on 
the  side  of  the  entrance-tower.  The  one  near  to  the  win- 
dow of  his  bedchamber  bore  the  motto  "Pretereunt"  (they 
pass  by);  that  above  the  doorway  bore  the  word  " Impu- 
tantur"  (they  are  reckoned  to  us).  He  thought  drearily  of 
the  slow  passage  of  time,  remembering  with  indescribable 
wretchedness  that  this  was  but  the  first  day  of  December, 
and  that  his  arrest  had  taken  place  on  the  2oth  of  the  pre- 
vious month.  If 'ten  days  seemed  so  intolerably  long,  what 
would  months  or  years  of  imprisonment  be  like  ?  And  in 
what  way  could  these  tedious  hours  of  imprisonment  be  im- 
puted—  be  reckoned  to  him?  How  was  he  serving  the 
country  by  dragging  through  a  weary  time  of  inaction  in 
Farnham  Castle?  Was  it  that  only  in  this  particular  way 
his  character  could  be  trained,  his  powers  of  patience  and 
endurance  and  self-control  developed  ?  Was  his  friendship 
with  the  Denhams  needful  in  some  far-distant  period  of  life  ? 
Could  it  possibly  bring  good  to  those  who  should  come 
after  ?  He  was  musing  over  these  dim  possibilities  when 
the  sound  of  approaching  horsemen  roused  him.  Looking 
down  from  the  lofty  terrace,  he  could  see  the  whole  length 
13 


i94 

of  Castle  Street,  and  his  heart  began  to  throb  wildly  when 
he  caught  sight  of  the  blue  banner  of  the  Parliament  head- 
ing a  goodly  column  of  steel-capped  cavalry,  whose  glitter- 
ing armor  and  orange  ribbons  made  a  glowing  streak  in  the 
wide  road  between  the  red-tiled  houses. 

Instantly  the  garrison  of  the  castle  was  all  astir.  Sir 
John  Denham,  who  had  not  in  the  least  expected  an  attack, 
and  was  far  more  of  a  poet  than  a  soldier,  gave  hurried 
orders  as  to  the  defence  of  the  gate-house. 

"  The  rebels  have  no  ordnance,"  he  observed  to  Arthur ; 
"never  fear  but  we  shall  be  able  to  withstand  them.  A 
hundred  men  within  walls  such  as  these  are  surely  a  match 
for  a  crew  of  beggarly  Roundheads."  Then  catching  sight 
of  Joscelyn,  who  stood  close  by :  "  Your  pardon,  Captain 
Heyworth  ;  I  had  not  observed  you ;  and,  as  you  know,  I 
have  always  maintained  that  your  *  valor  deserved  a  better 
fortune,'  like  the  captive  bashaws.  However,  since  you 
have  irrevocably  cast  in  your  lot  with  the  King's  enemies,  I 
will  ask  you  now  to  retire  to  your  room,  and  there  to  await 
what  comes  to  pass." 

It  was  hard  to  turn  tamely  into  the  castle,  and  impossible 
to  wait  patiently.  Joscelyn  rushed  up  the  winding  staircase, 
and,  with  what  Arthur  Denham  would  have  called  his  "bull- 
in-the-net "  expression,  flung  wide  the  windows  of  the  inner 
room,  letting  in  the  sharp  exhilarating  air.  The  room  was 
in  the  angle  of  the  tower,  and  commanded  from  one  side  a 
view  of  the  town,  from  the  other  a  view  of  the  gate-house. 
Joscelyn,  looking  eagerly  forth,  could  see  the  glittering  pikes 
and  helmets  of  the  Parliamentarians,  and  when  the  bugle 
was  sounded  and  the  summons  made,  his  excitement  be- 
came intense.  At  first  he  had  no  idea  whose  troop  it  could 
be,  but  presently  he  caught  the  name  which  was  being 
passed  from  one  to  another  of  the  men-at-arms  just  below 
the  window— "Waller,"  "  Sir  William  Waller!"  Then  in- 


195 

deed  his  spirits  rose.  Want  of  ordnance  would  not  hinder 
one  so  resolute  and  skilful  as  the  conqueror  of  Portsmouth, 
and  he  wondered  at  Sir  John  Denham's  scornful  speech 
and  rash  confidence.  Meanwhile  it  had  apparently  been 
recognized  by  the  Royalists  that  the  gate-house  was  weak, 
for  dozens  of  men  were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  bringing  logs 
and  planks  and  every  conceivable  obstacle  they  could  lay 
hands  on,  till  a  great  pile  was  made  against  the  gate  to 
strengthen  it  from  within.  Scarcely,  however,  was  this  com- 
pleted, when  Joscelyn,  keenly  watching  the  proceedings,  was 
startled  by  a  sudden  flash  of  light,  quickly  followed  by  a 
violent  explosion.  Sir  William  Waller  had  fastened  a  pe- 
tard to  the  castle  gate,  and  instantly  it  was  broken  to 
pieces,  so  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  great  pile  of  wood 
which  the  besieged  had  just  placed  against  it,  the  Parlia- 
mentarians would  at  once  have  entered.  As  it  was,  they 
had  to  remove  this  barrier,  during  which  a  few  shots  were 
exchanged,  and  one  of  the  Parliamentary  officers  fell  mor- 
tally wounded.  He  had  been  the  first  to  scale  the  barrier, 
and  lay  face  downward  in  the  dust,  the  soldiers  being  far 
too  busy  in  clearing  the  road  to  pay  any  heed  to  him,  till  all 
was  ready  for  the  onward  rush  of  the  besiegers  ;  then  he 
was  dragged  aside,  and  apparently  being  recognized  as  a 
person  of  distinction,  some  one  came  to  his  aid.  In  the 
meantime  the  governor  and  the  whole  of  the  garrison  had 
retired  into  the  castle,  and  before  long  it  was  agreed  that 
they  should  yield  upon  quarter.  The  defence  had  been 
slight  and  bad,  and  Sir  John,  who  would  have  fought  bravely 
enough,  but  was  lacking  in  all  that  was  essential  to  the 
governor  of  a  fortress,  looked  greatly  depressed  and  crest- 
fallen. Waller  had,  it  is  true,  been  very  nearly  killed  by 
one  of  his  own  men  in  a  narrow  passage  after  he  had  en- 
tered the  castle,  but  he  had  just  escaped,  to  the  intense 
joy  and  relief  of  the  Parliamentarians. 


196 

Meanwhile  in  his  room  in  the  tower  Joscelyn  suddenly 
realized  that  he  was  free  to  come  and  go  as  he  liked,  that 
he  was  no  longer  bound  to  obey  Sir  John's  directions,  but 
could  go  down  below  and  see  what  was  passing.  With  an 
indescribable  sense  of  relief,  he  threw  open  his  door  and 
hurried  down  the  stairs,  making  his  way  with  all  speed  to 
the  banqueting -hall,  through  the  crowd  of  soldiers  who 
thronged  the  broad  entrance-passage. 

Beside  the  hearth,  talking  to  Sir  John  Denham,  stood  a 
dark-eyed,  alert-looking  officer,  whose  brisk  yet  courteous 
manner  and  quietly  humorous  expression  somehow  reminded 
Joscelyn  of  Sir  Robert  Neal.  Sir  William  Waller  was  of 
course  many  years  younger,  being  at  this  time  about  five- 
and-forty,  but  the  slight  likeness  to  Clemency's  grandfather 
at  once  attracted  Joscelyn  to  him,  and  he  felt  confident  that 
he  should  be  happy  under  his  new  commander. 

"Well,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  said  Sir  John,  "the  tables  are 
turned,  you  see,  and,  lo  !  I  am  your  prisoner.  Thus  *  the 
whirligig  of  time  brings  in  its  revenges.'  This,  Sir  William, 
is  my  sometime  prisoner,  captured  on  the  highway  ten  days 
since,  as  he  was  bearing  despatches  to  you." 

Sir  William's  brow  clouded,  and  he  greeted  Joscelyn  with 
a  marked  coldness  and  reserve.  Arthur  Denham,  who  was 
standing  close  by,  looked  on  in  amazement,  and  clearly 
Joscelyn  felt  the  rebuff  very  keenly,  for  he  crimsoned  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair.  Waller  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments 
in  silence. 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Heyworth,"  he  said,  "  and  of 
the  despatches  which  you  were  to  have  delivered  to  me — 
despatches  received  by  you  from  Mr.  Pym,  and  known  to 
be  of  special  importance.  I  understand  that  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  your  home  you  allowed  yourself  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  your  father's  troop,  that  family  feeling  got  the  bet- 
ter of  your  sense  of  duty,  and  that  you  surrendered  the  de- 


*97 

spatches  to  our  enemies.  It  rests  now  with  you  to  clear 
yourself  of  a  charge  of  the  worst  form  of  treachery." 

At  the  word  treachery  Joscelyn's  eyes  flashed  with  a  dan- 
gerous light.  "  If,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  trembled  with 
suppressed  anger,  "  those  of  my  own  party  distrust  me  and 
deem  me  a  traitor,  my  assurance  will  carry  little  weight.  I 
will  ask  my  honorable  foes  to  tell  truthfully  what  passed  on 
the  2oth  of  last  month." 

"  Great  God !"  broke  in  Arthur,  impetuously.  "  Is  it 
treacherous,  sir,  to  fight  when  others  fly,  to  refuse  to  yield 
on  quarter,  to  struggle  single-handed  against  many,  to  be 
struck  down  and  stunned,  robbed  while  but  half  conscious 
of  despatches,  and  dragged  through  the  town  a  prisoner 
bound  to  the  stirrup-leathers  of  the  Royalist  troop  ?  Do 
you  deem  it  treachery  to  resist  threats  and  bribes  when 
urged  by  all  to  explain  the  cipher  ?  Is  he  to  be  called  a 
traitor  now  by  you,  sir,  who,  standing  a  few  days  since 
in  that  very  place,  was  called  traitor  and  recreant,  made 
to  endure  moral  torture,  cursed  and  disowned  by  his 
father  ?" 

Waller  listened  attentively  to  this  outburst;  it  was  impos- 
sible to  read  his  face.  He  turned  to  Sir  John  and  asked 
for  his  version  of  the  story,  and  the  ex-governor,  in  a  quiet 
fashion,  with  here  and  there  a  touch  of  wit  or  a  veiled  sar- 
casm, briefly  related  what  had  happened. 

"  Andrew,  gentlemen,"  he  added,  "  to  settle  all  disputes, 
let  me  hand  over  to  Sir  William  these  much-talked-of  de- 
spatches, which  I  presume  he  is  as  unable  to  read  as  I  am 
myself  till  Captain  Heyworth  explains  the  cipher." 

Joscelyn  would  hardly  have  been  human  had  he  not  felt 
a  momentary  sense  of  triumph.  He  thought  he  detected  a 
latent  gleam  of  amusement  in  Sir  William  Waller's  astute 
face  as  he  beckoned  him  aside  and  asked  him  for  the  key. 
Having  furnished  this,  he  withdrew  again  to  the  hearth,  and 


stood  talking  in  a  low  voice  to  Arthur  Denham  until  Waller 
once  more  rejoined  them. 

"  Mr.  Heyworth,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand,  "  I  ask  your 
pardon.  I  have  greatly  misjudged  you,  and  have  been 
misled  by  your  former  comrade,  Mr.  Original  Smith.  Tis 
much  against  my  practice  to  make  tale-bearers  by  listening 
to  misreports,  and  though  the  man's  story  seemed  coherent 
enough,  I  blame  myself  for  too  easily  giving  him  credence. 
There  may  be  a  slander  in  hearing  and  listening  as  well  as 
in  speaking." 

Turning  to  an  officer  who  stood  near,  he  desired  him  to 
summon  Original  Smith,  and  erelong  the  ex-tutor  appeared, 
glancing  quickly  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  group  near 
the  fire,  and  with  much  shrewdness  instantly  grasping  the 
situation. 

"Your  tale,  Mr.  Smith,  does  not  tally  with  facts,"  said 
Sir  William,  with  much  sharpness  of  manner.  "  You  seem 
to  have  leaped  hastily  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Hey- 
worth intended  to  betray  his  trust,  and  though  your  former 
comrade  will  not  breathe  a  word  against  you,  and  has  not 
himself  told  me  of  your  proceedings,  I  gather  from  others 
that  your  chief  thought  was  to  save  yourself,  and  that  you 
ran  off  without  striking  a  single  blow.  Was  it  not  so,  Mr. 
Heyworth  ?" 

The  sight  of  Original  Sin  Smith's  cropped  head  and  prig- 
gish face  had  instantly  awakened  in  Joscelyn  the  old  sense 
of  repulsion,  but,  conscious  of  his  own  prejudice,  he  tried 
hard  to  be  just. 

"  The  word  had  been  given,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  to  escape 
to  the  Holt  Forest,  for  we  were  greatly  outnumbered,  and  it 
seemed  the  sole  chance  of  saving  the  despatches.  When  my 
horse  fell  beneath  me  the  other  men  instinctively  made  a 
stand  against  the  enemy,  but  Mr.  Smith  was  doubtless  within 
his  rights  in  escaping  to  the  forest,  and  in  a  moment  of 


199 

panic  many  would  have  done  as  he  did.  I  confess  it  seems 
to  me  that  he  had  no  call  to  cast  so  vile  an  imputation  on 
my  honor." 

"  I  have  greatly  erred,"  said  Original  Sin,  "  and  I  humbly 
crave  your  forgiveness,  Mr.  Heyworth.  Believe  me  'twas 
naught  but  a  mistake." 

"  Well,  well,  let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  gentlemen,"  said 
Sir  William.  "  The  important  point  is  that  through  Captain 
Heyworth's  faithfulness  we  have  been  able  to  secure  this 
important  castle  with  extraordinarily  small  loss  of  life.  Had 
he  consented  to  read  this  missive  when  pressed  to  do  so, 
Sir  John  Denham  would  have  known  that  the  Close  Com- 
mittee counselled  a  speedy  assault,  and  would  doubtless 
have  made  great  preparations  to  receive  us." 

"  Sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  there  is  one  thing  I  would  beg  of 
you,  and  that  is  that  Sir  John,  Mr.  Denham,  and  the  other 
prisoners  be  treated  with  as  much  courtesy  and  kindness 
as  I  by  them  have  been  treated." 

" Tis  well  spoken,"  said  Sir  William.  "And  in  truth  'tis 
my  constant  endeavor  to  express  all  the  civilities  I  can  to 
those  of  the  adverse  party.  For  are  there  not  good  men  on 
both  sides  ?  and  those  so  divided  that,  like  parallel  lines  (the 
both  right  and  straight),  they  cannot  be  brought  to  meet." 

This  simile  lingered  ever  after  in  the  minds  of  Joscelyn 
Heyworth  and  Arthur  Denham.  They  parted  regretfully 
enough,  having  formed  one  of  those  rare  and  stimulating 
friendships  which  can  sometimes  exist  between  those  most 
opposed  to  each  other.  We  may  go  through  life  in  two 
ways,  either  as  lovers  of  uniformity,  jealously  shrinking  from 
all  that  offends  our  taste  and  shocks  our  views  of  truth,  or 
as  lovers  of  unity  holding  fast  through  evil  report  and  good 
report  to  that  love  of  humanity — that  great  reality  of  broth- 
erhood— which  will  outlast  all  differences  in  religion  and 
in  politics. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

Ah,  Life,  that  dost  begin  so  fair, 

With  eager  heart  and  tender  kiss 
And  strokings  of  love's  golden  hair, 

That  thou  shouldst  come  to  this — 
This — that  a  broken  man  should  watch 

And  pray  for  just  one  day — one  more — 
While  Death  is  trifling  with  the  latch 

And  fumbling  at  the  door. 

— NORMAN  R.  GALE. 

THE  prisoners  were  sent  early  the  next  day  to  London, 
and  Joscelyn  entered  upon  his  new  duties  ;  he  was  promoted 
to  a  captaincy  in  Sir  William  Waller's  regiment,  the  rela- 
tions between  them  proving  specially  cordial  on  account  of 
their  mutual  friendship  for  Hampden,  and  also  perhaps  on 
account  of  the  brief  misunderstanding,  which  Waller  greatly 
regretted.  As  for  Original  Sin,  he  played  the  role  of  peni- 
tent most  creditably,  and  Joscelyn  with  ready  generosity 
quickly  forgave,  stifling  the  doubts  which  now  and  then  rose 
in  his  mind  with  the  remembrance  that  his  comrade  had 
been  known  and  apparently  trusted  all  his  life  by  a  man  as 
shrewd  and  wary  as  Sir  Robert  Neal. 

There  was  much  to  be  done  in  forming  the  garrison,  and 
Original,  who  showed  no  very  keen  desire  for  active  fight- 
ing, proved  very  useful  as  a  clerk  to  the  newly  appoint- 
ed governor  of  the  castle,  George  Wither,  the  poet,  who, 
strangely  enough,  succeeded  his  rival,  Sir  John  Denham. 

One  evening,  just  as  the  officers  had  met  together  in  the 
hall  for  supper,  the  whole  castle  was  roused  by  the  most 
unearthly  sound  of  howling  and  piteous  wailing. 


201 

"  Some  banshee  must  surely  haunt  the  place,"  said  Josce- 
lyn. 

"The  ghost  of  poor  Colonel  Fane,"  suggested  a  young 
officer,  and  all  present  thought  of  the  unburied  corpse  of 
the  son  of  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland  lying  at  that  mo- 
ment in  the  castle,  the  one  victim  of  the  siege,  who  had 
just  succumbed  to  the  wound  in  the  cheek  which  Joscelyn 
had  seen  him  receive  during  the  capture  of  the  gate-house. 

"  Vain,  popish  superstitions,"  muttered  Original  Sin. 
"  Scripture  saith  that  dead  men  sleep  in  their  graves  till  the 
last  trump." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Sir  William,  "  I  think  you  will 
find  that  Scripture  saith  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect 
are  with  God,  the  great  judge  of  all,  and  that  they  compass 
us  about,  forming  a  great  cloud  of  witnesses." 

"  Scripture  also  saith,  '  Thou  fool,  thou  sowest  not  that 
body  that  shall  be,'  "  observed  Joscelyn  in  a  low  voice,  for 
Original  Sin's  ghastly  view  of  the  actual  living  self  sleeping 
in  the  mould  was  in  the  last  degree  repulsive  to  him.  . 

"  My  worthy  friends,"  said  Sir  Arthur  Hazlerigg,  bluntly, 
"  'tis  no  banshee,  but  a  dog,  that  makes  this  pitiful  howling. 
A  hound  baying  the  moon,  belike." 

Sir  William  smiled  a  little  at  the  abrupt  turn  given  to  the 
talk,  and  bade  one  of  the  men  go  without  and  inquire  into 
the  matter.  Meanwhile,  Original  Sin  returned  to  his  argu- 
ment about  the  resurrection,  and  the  talk  waxed  eager 
again,  till  it  was  suddenly  checked  by  an  exclamation  from 
Joscelyn. 

"  'Tis  Cymro !"  he  cried,  and  started  back  from  the  table 
with  a  look  of  amazement  and  distress ;  "  'tis  our  dog  at 
Shortell  Manor.  Something  must  be  wrong,  or  surely  he 
would  never  have  found  his  way  here." 

The  tawny  collie  called  forth  many  a  word  of  praise  from 
the  officers,  and  it  was  touching  to  see  his  rapture  of  de- 


202 

light  at  finding  his  master.  This,  however,  soon  gave  way 
to  low  whines  of  distress ;  he  darted  back  towards  the  door- 
way, then  returned  to  Joscelyn,  laid  his  fore-paw  on  his  knee, 
licked  his  face,  whined,  and  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  full  of 
real  tears,  as  if  well-nigh  broken-hearted  that  his  master 
could  not  understand  his  language. 

"  I  am  certain  there  is  something  the  matter  at  home," 
said  Joscelyn,  in  great  agitation.  "  I  never  saw  Cymro  in 
such  distress." 

"  Were  anything  amiss  they  would  have  sent  some  mes- 
senger," said  Sir  William.  "Was  no  one  at  the  gate  with 
the  dog  ?" 

"  No  one,  sir,"  said  the  man  who  had  gone  forth  before. 
"  They  say  the  dog  has  been  there  this  half-hour,  whining 
and  scratching,  and  at  length  howling  for  admittance." 

"  'Tis  little  likely  that  any  messenger  would  be  sent,"  said 
Joscelyn  ;  "  they  no  longer  own  me." 

"  To-morrow  you  can  send  your  servant  over  to  inquire," 
said  Sir  William.  "  And  now,  gentlemen,  I  will  bid  you 
good-night.  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  services,  Captain  Hey- 
worth,  in  my  study." 

"  'Tis  strange,"  he  observed,  as  Joscelyn  set  down  the 
lamp  he  had  carried  from  the  hall  on  the  crowded  table  of 
the  general's  private  room.  "  The  dog  certainly  seems 
much  disturbed.  Do  you  know  of  any  member  of  your 
family  being  ill  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Yet  I  am  much  afraid  it  is 
for  my  little  sister  that  the  dog  seeks  help,"  and  he  related 
to  Sir  William  the  story  of  Rosamond's  visit  to  Farnham  on 
the  morning  of  the  24th. 

The  general  listened  in  silence. 

"  Poor  child !"  he  said,  when  Joscelyn  paused ;  "  she  is 
one  of  those  to  whom  this  war  must  bring  bitter  suffering. 
Why  should  you  not  ride  over  yourself  early  on  the  morrow 


and  make  inquiries  of  this  gate-keeper  who  is  still  attached 
to  you  ?" 

Joscelyn  thanked  him  for  the  permission,  and  an  hour 
later,  when  his  work  was  done,  went  slowly  up  to  his  room 
in  the  tower,  oppressed  with  miserable  forebodings,  and 
only  wishing  that  the  night  was  over.  Cymro,  with  an  air 
of  piteous  depression,  stretched  himself  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  and  before  long,  Joscelyn,  weary  with  a  hard  day's 
labor,  had  fallen  asleep.  He  slept,  however,  but  a  few  min- 
utes, and  woke  with  a  horrible  start,  springing  to  his  feet  at 
the  sound  of  an  imaginary  bugle,  and  at  a  summons, 
whether  real  or  imaginary  he  could  not  tell,  which  had 
spoken  clearly  to  him  the  words,  "You  are  wanted  at 
home." 

With  trembling  hands  he  felt  for  the  tinder-box  and 
struck  a  light,  almost  expecting  to  see  a  messenger  beside 
his  bed.  But  there  was  no  one ;  only  Cymro  started  up 
and  began  to  utter  short  barks,  as  if  delighted  to  see  him 
roused. 

"  Hush  !  Down  !  Quiet !"  he  said,  remembering  that  it 
was  night,  and  that  most  of  the  garrison  slept. 

"  Would  to  God  it  were  morning !"  he  exclaimed  to  him- 
self, as  he  extinguished  the  light  and  once  more  lay  down. 

"  Be  quiet,  Cymro  !"  as  again  the  dog  began  to  howl  in 
the  most  heart-rending  way.  "Come  here!  Good  dog! 
Don't  rouse  the  whole  castle  !" 

He  patted  the  soft  silky  head  and  fondled  the  long  ears, 
gradually  soothing  the  collie  into  quiet,  and  talking  to  him 
almost  as  if  he  were  a  child.  But  his  words  grew  gradually 
dreamy  and  confused,  and  before  long  he  was  fast  asleep. 

Both  dog  and  master  indeed  slept,  and  apparently  they 
both  had  a  dream,  for  Cymro's  sleep  seemed  as  much  agi- 
tated and  disturbed  as  the  sleep  of  the  young  officer. 

Joscelyn  dreamed  that  he  was  standing  in  Rosamond's 


204 

room  at  the  manor;  about  the  bed  he  saw  his  mother, 
Isabella,  the  chaplain  in  his  surplice,  and  the  cross-looking 
old  nurse -keeper  who  had  ruled  them  all  in  childhood 
with  a  rod  of  iron.  Something  seemed  to  be  holding  him 
back,  but  with  a  desperate  struggle  he  freed  himself  so  that 
he  could  put  the  watchers  aside  and  see  Rosamond.  She 
was  moaning  and  wailing  and  begging  him  to  come  to  her ; 
he  saw  by  the  look  on  her  face  that  she  was  dying,  and  he 
held  out  his  arms  to  her  and  struggled  to  reach  her,  but 
could  not.  Then  the  whole  scene  seemed  to  vanish,  and 
he  was  without  in  a  dark  place,  but  the  piteous  cry  of  "  Jos- 
celyn  !  Joscelyn  !  O  God,  send  Joscelyn  !"  still  rang  in  his 
ears.  Yet  more  and  more  the  darkness  seemed  to  baffle 
and  check  him,  to  rise  up  like  an  impassable  barrier  shut- 
ting him  out  from  the  dying  child.  As  he  struggled  in 
agony,  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  the  darkness  strong  arms 
clasped  him  and  a  voice  said  to  him  clearly,  "  Rise  and  go 
home !  Rise  and  go  home  !"  He  once  more  sprang  from 
the  bed,  and  the  action  woke  him.  Cymro  bounded  up  and 
began  to  lick  his  feet,  to  thud  the  floor  with  his  tail,  to 
utter  low  sounds  of  intense  relief  and  pleasure.  And  now 
Joscelyn  hesitated  no  longer ;  he  was  convinced  that  not  a 
moment  must  be  lost.  Hastily  lighting  a  candle,  throwing 
on  his  clothes,  and  drawing  on  his  long  riding-boots,  he 
went  to  one  of  the  adjoining  rooms  in  which  Sir  William 
Waller  slept.  He  was  relieved  to  find  that  the  general  was 
awake ;  a  lamp  still  burned  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  Sir 
William,  who  was  somewhat  fond  of  turning  night  into  day, 
lay  comfortably  reading  a  small  volume  of  Plato.  He  lis- 
tened with  interest  to  Joscelyn's  story.- 

"  You  can  go  at  once,"  he  said.  "  I  only  stipulate  for 
two  things — that  you  go  fully  armed  and  attended  by  your 
servant,  and  that  you  return  on  the  morrow." 

Joscelyn  waited  but  to  thank  him,  and  then  hurried  off  to 


HE   ENCOUNTERED   MORRISON    HIMSELF    FULLY    DRESSED. 

[Page  204. 


205 

get  his  helmet  and  corselet  and  to  summon  Morrison.  He 
was  chafing  at  the  thought  of  the  delay  which  would  be 
caused  by  rousing  his  man,  when,  to  his  relief  and  astonish- 
ment, as  he  mounted  the  winding  stair,  he  encountered 
Morrison  himself  fully  dressed. 

"  What !"  he  cried  ;  "  you  are  up  already  ?    How  is  that  ?" 

"  The  Lord  only  knows,  sir,"  said  Morrison,  rubbing  his 
eyes  like  a  man  still  half  asleep.  "  I  woke  up  with  the  feel- 
ing strong  upon  me  that  I  must  dress  and  come  down,  and 
gladly  enough  will  I  turn  back  to  bed  if  'tis  a  fool's  errand 
I've  come  on,  for  'tis  a  cruel  cold  night." 

"I. was  just  coming  to  call  you.  I  have  the  general's 
permission  to  ride  over  at  once  to  Shortell  Manor.  Saddle 
your  horse  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  I  will  see  to  my  own  to 
save  time." 

Giving  the  password  to  the  guard,  they  were  let  out  of 
the  castle,  and  after  some  little  delay  in  the  stables,  rode 
out  through  the  gate-house,  which  was  now  in  process  of 
restoration.  Joscelyn  was  astonished  to  learn  from  the 
warder  that  it  was  but  little  after  midnight,  and  realized 
that  his  sleep  must  have  been  of  the  briefest,  though  his 
dream  in  its  misery  had  seemed  long.  The  night  was  clear 
and  frosty,  so  that  they  were  able  to  push  on  rapidly,  owing 
to  the  hardness  of  the  roads,  and  yet  how  terribly  long  the 
ride  seemed  to  him !  how  interminable  the  forest !  how 
eagerly  he  strained  his  eyes  for  the  first  glimpse  of  the 
church-tower !  At  length  they  reached  it,  and  glancing 
towards  the  white  gravestones  and  the  lime-tree  avenue 
leading  to  the  porch,  he  remembered  the  Sunday  evening 
when  he  had  listened  to  the  psalm  which  told  of  the  swell- 
ing clouds  and  darkness  that  for  a  time  veiled  the  ever- 
dwelling  right  and  justice  of  God.  The  darkness  seemed 
to  surge  round  him  when  he  thought  of  Rosamond  in  some 
strange  need,  some  great  danger,  though  his  vigorous  nat- 


206 

ure  was  not  one  to  be  baffled  by  perplexed  questionings ; 
in  his  pain  he  held  fast  to  the  One  he  was  trying  to  serve. 
His  heart  nevertheless  gave  a  great  bound  of  alarm  when 
he  saw  that  a  light  was  burning  in  Barnaby's  lodge,  and 
that  as  they  rode  up  the  door  was  flung  wide  open  and  the 
old  man  came  hurrying  out  to  the  gate. 

"  What  is  amiss  with  her  ?"  asked  Joscelyn,  hoarsely. 

"  Good  Lord,  sir,"  said  Barnaby,  in  astonishment,  "  is  it 
you  ?  I  had  thought  'twas  the  doctor  from  Alton." 

"  Speak !"  said  Joscelyn,  laying  his  hand  imploringly  on 
the  old  man's  shoulder,  and  hardly  able  to  endure  his  slow 
words.  "  How  is  she  ?  What  ails  her?" 

"  Whether  cold  or  fretting  I  can't  justly  say,  but  she  be 
sick  of  a  fever,"  said  Barnaby.  "  Coming  back  from  Farn- 
ham  that  market-day,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  we  were 
spied  by  my  lady,  who  returned  sooner  than  expected ;  and 
though  I  would  have  told  fifty  lies  to  save  the  poor  little 
maid,  Miss  Rosamond  would  have  none  of  it,  but  owned  up 
as  brave  as  could  be  when  questioned.  I  know  they  kept 
her  on  bread  and  water  for  the  next  three  days,  and  that 
old  Kezia  was  ordered  to  give  her  a  sound  whipping  into 
the  bargain ;  and  belike  she  took  a  chill  in  Farnham  Park 
waiting  for  you." 

With  a  stifled  exclamation  of  wrath  and  grief,  Joscelyn 
drew  up  his  reins  and  urged  his  horse  on  at  a  gallop.  Bar- 
naby's words  had  almost  maddened  him ;  the  thought  of 
the  little  delicate  girl  beaten  for  him,  starved  for  him,  dying 
now  through  her  loving  effort  to  save  him,  wrung  his  heart 
with  an  intolerable  torture. 

Dismounting  at  the  door  of  the  manor,  he  flung  his  bridle 
without  a  word  to  Morrison  and  strode  up  the  steps.  Here 
too,  as  at  the  lodge,  he  was  mistaken  for  the  doctor,  and 
the  two  serving-men  hurried  forward  to  usher  him  in.  At 
the  farther  end  of  the  hall,  leaning  on  his  stick,  stood  Sir 


207 

Thomas  himself,  with  a  face  full  of  sadness  and  anxiety, 
with  eyes  soft  and  wistful,  hardly  like  the  same  man  who 
had  cursed  his  son  at  Farnham  Castle. 

Joscelyn  had  no  room  for  thought  of  the  past  or  of  himself. 

"  Father,"  he  cried,  "  how  is  she  ?  Am  I  in  time  to  see 
her?" 

Removing  his  steel  cap,  he  crossed  the  hall,  but  Sir 
Thomas  started  back  as  though  he  had  seen  a  ghost;  then 
suddenly  realizing  the  audacity  of  his  son's  return,  the  de- 
mon of  pride  drove  back  all  thoughts  of  Rosamond,  all 
tender  feelings.  The  angry  color  mounted  to  his  brow. 

"You  cursed  rebel !"  he  cried.  "  How  dare  you  set  foot 
in  my  house  ?  I  have  disowned  you.  Get  you  hence  !" 

"  Rosamond  has  not  disowned  me  and  I  am  hers,  and  I 
will  see  her,"  said  Joscelyn,  defiantly.  "No  one  on  earth 
shall  hinder  me."  He  strode  towards  the  staircase. 

"  Seize  him,"  cried  Sir  Thomas,  beckoning  to  the  serv- 
ants. "  Thrust  him  out.  You  dogs,  do  you  hesitate  ? 
Seize  him  this  instant !  Were  I  not  helpless  with  gout  I 
myself  would  do  it." 

The  two  serving-men,  afraid  to  show  any  more  reluctance, 
came  hastily  forward,  but  Joscelyn  suddenly  dashed  down  the 
three  steps  he  had  ascended,  and  before  Sir  Thomas  could 
so  much  as  frame  a  sentence  both  lackeys  had  measured 
their  length  on  the  floor,  and  the  victor  was  striding  up  the 
oak  staircase,  filled  with  a  fiery  strength  which  seemed  ca- 
pable of  subduing  everything.  As  he  approached  the  room 
which  he  had  once  shared  with  Dick,  Cymro,  who  had  dis- 
appeared on  their  arrival,  bounded  out  to  greet  him ;  he 
perceived  that  the  door  which  led  through  this  room  to 
Rosamond's  bedchamber  was  standing  ajar ;  he  could  see 
lights  and  hear  voices. 

"  Joscelyn !  Joscelyn  !"  cried  the  voice  he  had  heard  in 
his  dream.  "  O  God,  send  Joscelyn  !" 


208 


"  My  child,"  said  the  chaplain,  "  your  time  is  short ;  it 
were  fitting  that  you  thought  of  your  sins  and  asked  God  to 
have  mercy  on  your  soul.  Then  I  can  give  you  the  blessed 
sacrament." 

"I  will  not  take  it  without  Joscelyn!  I  do  not  care 
about  my  soul,"  moaned  Rosamond. 

"  Child  !  child  !"  said  her  mother,  weeping  bitterly;  "you 
know  not  what  you  say.  Your  brother  cannot  come  here. 
An  outcast,  a  rebel  —  how  is  it  possible  ?  He  is  lost  to  us 
and  to—" 

She  was  checked  by  feeling  a  touch  on  her  arm,  and  look- 
ing round,  she  saw  Joscelyn  beside  her.  The  amazement, 
the  shrinking  horror  in  her  face  wounded  him  sorely.  Isa- 
bella, too,  started  back  at  his  approach  as  though  he  had 
been  a  leper.  He  passed  on,  just  conscious  of  the  stern 
glance  of  the  chaplain  from  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  yet 
with  all  personal  resentment  fading  fast  before  the  one  ab- 
sorbing thought  of  the  dying  child's  wish.  Her  eyes  were 
closed.  He  took  the  little  thin  ringers  which  were  clutch- 
ing nervously  at  the  coverlet  in  his  strong  grasp. 

"  God  has  sent  me,  Rosamond,"  he  said,  his  voice  falter- 
ing a  little  as  it  fell  upon  the  deathly  stillness  of  the  room. 

The  child  opened  her  eyes,  a  lovely  smile  lighting  up  her 
face.  "  You  are  free  ?"  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  free,  and  in  time  to  save  you,"  he  said,  folding  her 
in  his  arms  and  kissing  her  tenderly. 

For  a  while  she  lay  in  silent  content ;  then  just  glancing 
towards  the  chaplain,  she  said,  softly  :  "  I  am  sorry  I  did 
not  trust  God.  Let  me  have  the  blessed  sacrament  now." 

Sir  Thomas,  limping  at  that  moment  into  the  room,  heard 
lier  request.  He  looked  strangely  towards  the  disarmed 
man  holding  the  dying  child  so  lovingly,  and  remembered 
how  but  a  few  minutes  before  with  fiery  strength  Joscelyn 
had  dashed  aside  those  who  would  have  checked  his  en- 


'you  CURSED  REBEL!    HOW  DARE  YOU  SET  FOOT  IN  MY  HOUSE?'" 

[Page  207. 


209 

trance.  He  listened  with  a  dream-like  feeling  to  what  was 
passing. 

"I  can  scarcely  administer  the  holy  communion  while 
your  brother  is  present,"  said  the  chaplain,  doubtfully. 
"  You  have  seen  him,  my  dear ;  now  let  him  go,  for  it  is 
not  seemly  that  he  should  be  here,  when  none  of  his  family 
are  in  charity  with  him." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Rosamond  ;  "I  love  him.  I  will  not  let 
him  go." 

"  Do  not  grieve  the  poor  child,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  As 
for  the  rest  of  my  family,  they  have  disowned  me ,  I  am 
naught  to  them;  therefore  my  presence  cannot  disturb 
them.  Perchance  there  is  no  call  for  any  special  charity 
towards  strangers  and  foes,  and,  at  any  rate,  they  hate  me 
no  worse  than  they  hate  others  of  my  way  of  thinking." 

The  extreme  bitterness  of  his  tone  showed  how  far  he 
was  from  accepting  in  truth  the  position  of  stranger  and 
alien.  The  chaplain  looked  troubled,  but  it  was  no  time 
for  arguments,  and  all  lesser  questions  were  overshadowed 
by  his  desire  to  administer  to  Rosamond  her  first  and  last 
communion.  Preparations  had  already  been  made  for  the 
service,  and  now  he  dared  hesitate  no  longer,  but  hurrying 
through  the  short  epistle  and  gospel,  read  with  a  trembling 
voice  the  exhortation  to  all  those  who  were  in  love  and 
charity  with  their  neighbors  to  take  this  holy  sacrament 
to  their  comfort,  while  feeling  in  his  heart  how  very  hard 
it  was  to  ignore  the  figure  kneeling  beside  the  pillow  and 
supporting  the  sick  child,  even  though  he  had  represented 
himself  to  be  of  no  account  whatever.  Rosamond  seemed 
to  gather  strength  as  the  service  proceeded,  joining  very 
earnestly  in  the  prayers,  and  following  every  detail  with 
close  attention.  The  chaplain  began  positively  to  tremble 
as  he  approached  the  trying  moment.  He  administered  the 
bread  to  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Heyworth,  to  Isabella,  to 
14 


210 


old  Kezia,  who  knelt  almost  at  Joscelyn's  elbow,  then  he 
turned,  and  ignoring  the  outcast  with  an  effort,  passed 
around  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  and  with  a  voice  that 
shook  with  suppressed  emotion  repeated  the  words  to  Ros- 
amond. She  received  the  bread  in  her  little  worn  hand, 
deliberately  broke  it  in  two,  and  herself  held  one  of  the 
pieces  to  Joscelyn.  He  took  it,  and  a  sort  of  stir — a  move- 
ment of  horror — was  heard  in  the  room.  But  he  was  past 
being  hurt  by  that-,  all  bitterness  seemed  to  have  died  out 
of  his  heart  when  the  child's  hand  with  the  gift  within  it 
had  been  raised  to  his  lips.  As  for  the  chaplain,  his  voice 
grew  strangely  husky,  and  the  next  time,  much  to  the  sur- 
prise of  all,  he  did  not  pass  over  the  disowned  son,  but 
himself  held  the  chalice  to  his  lips — an  act  for  which  he 
was  afterwards  much  blamed,  but  which  he  never  regretted. 

When  the  blessing  had  been  spoken  they  one  by  one 
drew  near  and  kissed  the  child,  but  nobody  dared  to  sug- 
gest that  any  save  Joscelyn  should  hold  her,  and  when  she 
spoke  they  held  their  breath  to  listen ;  for  Rosamond,  who 
had  been  of  so  little  account  to  them  during  life,  had  now 
all  at  once  become  precious. 

"  Oh,  Joscelyn,"  she  sighed,  "  I  am  so  dreadfully  tired." 

"  That  is  what  you  said  to  me  in  the  park ;  do  you  re- 
member ?"  he  answered.  "  And  when  you  had  eaten  you 
were  better.  What  could  you  eat  now  ?" 

"  I  could  drink  a  bowl  of  milk,"  said  Rosamond. 

"  No,  my  dear,  no,"  began  old  Kezia,  shaking  her  head. 
"A  fever  must  be  starved ;  so  I've  always  been  told." 

"Fetch  some  milk,"  said  Joscelyn,  as  if  he  had  been 
commanding  a  troop.  And  the  old  nurse  went  meekly  off 
to  fulfil  the  order,  marvelling  at  the  change  that  had  come 
over  her  former  charge. 

Against  all  known  rules,  Rosamond  had  the  milk,  and 
soon  after  her  eyelids  gently  closed,  and  she  lay  breathing 


211 


so  softly  that  they  scarcely  knew  whether  she  did  still 
breathe.  Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  doctor  from  Alton 
arrived,  they  almost  thought  he  had  come  too  late.  He  was 
an  old  man  who  had  had  much  experience,  and  was  blessed 
with  more  than  the  usual  share  of  common-sense.  He  bent 
low  over  the  child,  his  wrinkled  fingers  on  her  little  white 
wrist,  his  keen  but  kindly  eyes  scanning  her  intently. 

"  Lay  her  down  gently,"  he  said  to  Joscelyn.  Then 
seeing  that  his  meaning  had  been  misunderstood,  he  added, 
"  Nay,  she  is  not  dead,  but  in  a  sound  sleep — a  sleep  that 
will  probably  save  her." 

The  sudden  reaction  was  overpowering,  and  as  Joscelyn 
obeyed  the  doctor's  orders,  and  turned  away  from  the  bed, 
a  violent  trembling-fit  seized  him.  With  unsteady  steps  he 
passed  through  the  midst  of  the  watchers,  and,  reaching  his 
old  room,  let  himself  drop  onto  the  window-seat,  more  ut- 
terly spent  than  he  had  been  on  the  night  of  Edgehill.  He 
did  not  know  whether  minutes  or  hours  passed  before  the 
doctor  walked  through  the  door  in  conversation  with  the 
chaplain. 

"  Well,"  he  heard  the  old  man  say,  "  I  will  rest  in  your 
chamber,  as  you  suggest,  sir,  and  see  her  again  in  the 
morning.  I  have  great  hopes  for  her — great  hopes." 

Their  voices  died  away  in  the  distance.  Then  his  mother 
and  Isabella  came  in,  followed  slowly  by  Sir  Thomas,  who 
closed  Rosamond's  door  with  elaborate  carefulness  behind 
him.  Controlling  himself  with  an  effort,  Joscelyn  rose  and 
went  towards  Lady  Heyworth. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  pleadingly,  "  will  you  not  at  least  bid 
me  farewell  ?" 

But  she  shrank  back,  hiding  her  face  in  her  handkerchief, 
and  weeping  bitterly.  "  How  can  I  bid  you  fare  well  in 
your  rebellion  ?"  she  sobbed.  "  I  cannot  be  disloyal  to  my 
Church  and  my  King." 


212 


Sir  Thomas,  watching  intently,  saw  the  grieved  look  of 
disappointed  hope  in  Joscelyn's  face,  and  felt  a  curious 
stirring  of  the  heart,  as,  spite  of  the  rebuff,  the  son  bent 
low  and  kissed  his  mother's  hand. 

"  I  hear  you  are  to  be  married,"  said  Joscelyn,  approach- 
ing Isabella,  and  offering  to  salute  her.  "  I  wish  you  hap- 
piness." 

Isabella  drew  back  with  a  gesture  of  contempt. 

"  I  would  as  lief  kiss  a  murderer !"  she  protested. 

He  flushed  painfully,  and,  turning  away,  fastened  on  his 
corselet  and  sword,  and  went  towards  the  door.  As  he 
opened  it,  however,  Cymro,  seeing  him  on  the  point  of  de- 
parture, sprang  up,  and  with  low  moans  of  distress  began  to 
fawn  upon  him.  He  bent  down,  giving  the  faithful  hound 
a  great  hug,  and  letting  him  lick  his  face.  "  Guard  her, 
Cymro  !"  he  said.  "  Guard  her !"  And  the  dog,  as  if  he 
understood  all,  went  obediently  and  stretched  himself  on 
the  mat  by  Rosamond's  door.  Then  with  never  a  glance 
towards  his  father,  Joscelyn  went  out. 

The  pride  in  the  old  baronet's  heart  had,  however,  been 
almost  conquered.  He  thought  of  the  little  suffering  child, 
and  of  the  sacrament  she  had  forced  them  to  share,  he 
grieved  over  the  rebuffs  Joscelyn  had  received  from  the 
others,  and  his  strong  sense  of  justice  made  him  regret 
Isabella's  bitter  taunt.  Was  it  to  be  wondered  at  that 
Joscelyn  had  not  ventured  even  to  offer  him  a  farewell 
word  ?  Yet  his  silence  cut  him  to  the  heart.  He  limped 
painfully  out  into  the  corridor,  and  called  to  him  to  come 
back. 

"  You  bade  the  others  farewell,"  he  said.  "  Why  had 
you  no  word  for  me  ?" 

Never,  perhaps,  had  a  more  unreasonable  reproach  been 
uttered,  a  more  inconsistent  sentence  framed,  by  one  who 
had  disowned  and  cursed  his  son.  But  Joscelyn  blessed 


213 

the  inconsistency,  recognizing  the  irritable  yet  most  deeply 
loving  heart  of  the  father  he  had  loved  all  his  life.  He  had 
bent  low  to  salute  his  mother,  but  it  was  literally  on  his 
knees  that  he  kissed  his  father's  outstretched  hand. 

"  Farewell,  father,"  he  said,  falteringly. 

"  God  be  with  you,  my  son,"  said  Sir  Thomas. 

And  not  another  word  passed  between  them,  only  as  the 
old  man  felt  hot  tears  falling  on  his  right  hand,  he  placed 
the  other  hand  on  his  son's  bent  head.  And  Joscelyn 
understood  that  the  curse  was  revoked. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

Hark !  I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands, 

And  of  armed  mei>  the  hum. 
Lo !  a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
Round  the  quick-alarming  drum — 
Saying,  '  Come, 
Freemen,  come ! 

Ere  your  heritage  be  wasted,'  said  the  quick-alarming  drum. 

— BRET  HARTE. 

NOT  a  little  comforted  by  the  doctor's  cheering  words 
about  Rosamond  and  by  his  father's  wholly  unexpected 
kindness,  Joscelyn  rode  back  to  Farnham  Castle  in  the  gray 
winter's  dawn.  As  he  reached  the  little  town  the  sun  was 
just  rising,  and  recollecting  in  what  a  misery  of  suspense  he 
had  last  traversed  West  Street,  he  forgot  his  present  weari- 
ness, forgot  that  he  was  cold  and  hungry,  and  worn  with 
sorrow  and  want  of  sleep,  his  eager  hopeful  nature  basking 
in  the  happy  sense  of  relief  and  hope,  just  as  his  stiff  limbs 
basked  in  the  sunshine.  At  the  castle  he  found  small 
prospect  of  rest.  Fresh  troops  from  London  had  just 
arrived,  and  he  learned  that  Sir  William  Waller  intended  to 
set  out  that  very  night  for  Winchester. 

"  I  have  had  but  two  night  marches  as  yet,"  said  Joscelyn 
to  his  neighbor  at  the  dining-table,  when  the  plan  fell  under 
discussion,  "  and  one  of  those  was  the  most  wretched  night 
you  can  conceive,  struggling  on  through  the  Warwickshire 
lanes  in  mud  that  well-nigh  made  it  impossible  to  drag  on 
the  guns." 

"  Ah,  you  were  in  the  memorable  march  to  Edgehill !" 
said  Sir  William,  overhearing  the  remark.  "  I  had  forgotten 


you  were  there.  Few  but  Colonel  Hampden  could  have 
pushed  on  in  the  teeth  of  such  difficulties ;  and  had  it  not 
been  for  his  arrival  just  at  the  supreme  moment,  Edgehill 
might  have  been  a  defeat  for  us.  You  will  have  many 
a  night  march  with  me  this  winter,  never  fear ,  but  God 
grant  this  frost  may  last,  then  we  shall  press  on  merrily 
enough.  How  were  the  roads  yesternight  as  you  rode  to 
Shortell  ?" 

"  Hard  as  iron,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  We  rode  there  fast 
enough." 

And  then,  in  response  to  the  questions  that  were  launched 
upon  him  as  to  his  strange  summons  by  the  dog  and  his 
curious  dreams,  he  gave  an  account  of  what  had  passed  at 
Shortell.  Sir  William  and  one  or  two  of  the  officers  also 
narrated  tales  that  had  come  within  their  knowledge  of 
strange  omens  or  of  dreams  which  came  true. 

"  Such  idle  superstitions  are  but  the  rags  and  shreds  of 
popery  still  lingering  among  us,"  said  Original  Sin. 

"  What  ?"  said  Sir  William,  with  his  dry,  humorous  smile. 
"  Would  you  deny  that  the  patriarchs  oft  learned  the  truth 
in  dreams  ?  Were  not  the  Wise  Men  warned  in  like  manner 
not  to  return  to  Herod,  and  Joseph  bidden  to  journey  to 
Egypt,  and  Peter  and  Paul  taught  that  they  should  preach 
to  the  Gentiles.  All  of  which,  you  must  surely  allow,  took 
place  before  there  were  popes  at  Rome  ?" 

"  In  the  times  of  the  Bible  all  things  were  different,"  said 
Original  Sin,  in  his  harsh,  dogmatic  way.  "  Now  such  su- 
perstitions are  of  the  devil,  and  no  godly  man  should  con- 
sent to  be  led  by  such  will-o'-the-wisps." 

"  Your  notion  of  a  godly  man  appears  to  be  one  who  is 
guided  precisely  by  the  same  small  ray  of  light  by  which 
you  steer  your  steps,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  some  asperity. 
"  Does  it  never  occur  to  you  that  godly  people  may  differ  ?" 

"  There  is  but  one  truth — Bible  truth,"  said  Original  Sin, 


216 


with  decision.  "  I  have  grasped  it.  I  hold  it.  No  malig- 
nant can  fathom  it.  No  carnal  man,  no  half-hearted  super- 
stitious lover  of  vain  forms  and  ceremonies  can  so  much  as 
glimpse  it.  I  live  by  it.  I — " 

"  Oh  !1'  broke  in  Joscelyn,  impatiently ;  "  if  you  have  a 
monopoly  of  the  truth,  pray  keep  it  to  yourself." 

"  Why  do  you  not  ask  him  if  he  ran  away  by  it  on  a  cer- 
tain Lord's  day  ?"  said  Sir  Arthur  Hazlerigg,  in  an  under- 
tone. 

He  was  a  man  who  took  keen  pleasure  in  quarrels ;  but 
Joscelyn  was  too  courteous  to  act  on  his  suggestion,  and 
availing  himself  of  some  interruption,  he  left  the  table  and 
went  out  onto  the  terrace.  As  he  paced  to  and  fro,  his  at- 
tention was  drawn  to  a  group  of  soldiers  who  were  crowd- 
ing round  some  one  playing  on  a  rebec.  The  familiar  air, 
"  Sumer  is  icumen  in,"  made  him  think  of  his  first  evening 
at  the  Court-house,  when  Clemency  had  looked  tearfully 
forth  from  the  window  as  the  children  followed  the  loaded 
wain,  singing  the  hay-harvest  song  to  that  very  tune. 

He  drew  nearer  to  the  musician,  when  what  was  his  sur- 
prise to  recognize  a  well-known  retainer  who  lived  upon 
his  uncle's  estate  at  Bletchingley,  and  who  had  occasionally 
tramped  over  to  Shortell  at  Christmas-time,  bearing  presents 
from  one  household  to  the  other,  and  generally  officiating 
as  leader  of  the  music  at  a  Christmas  dance  at  the  manor. 
Temperance  Turner  presented  a  comical  appearance  that 
morning,  his  rusty  old  cloak  serving  to  veil  but  not  to  hide 
the  hump  on  his  back,  his  huge  head  made  still  more  notice- 
able by  a  steeple-crowned  hat,  and  his  humorous  mouth 
turned  down  at  the  corners  into  what  he  deemed  a  Puritani- 
cal shape.  He  had  begun  by  playing  the  "  Old  Hundredth," 
and  singing  it  right  lustily  in  his  powerful  bass.  But  he 
quickly  found  that  the  Parliamentary  troops  liked  merry 
tunes  as  well  as  other  folk,  and  he  had  now  relapsed  into 


what  Original  Sin  would  certainly  have  termed  an  ungodly 
and  profane  ballad.  When  he  had  ended  it  Joscelyn  tossed 
him  a  groat. 

"  Why,  Temperance,"  he  exclaimed,  "  who  would  have 
thought  to  see  you  here  ?  Have  you  joined  the  good  cause  ?" 

"Aye,  aye,  master,"  said  the  hunchback,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  dark  eyes.  "  All  for  King  and  Parliament  be  I,  and 
many's  the  soldier  that  trusts  me  with  a  message  to  his  home 
or  sends  by  me  a  fairing  to  his  lass." 

"  Who  knows  whether  he  be  not  a  spy  ?"  said  one  of  the 
men. 

"  Nay,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  'tis  a  worthy  fellow  I  have  known 
all  my  life.  I  would  vouch  for  his  honor  as  for  my  own,  and 
will  warrant  he'll  do  a  good  turn  for  any  one  of  you  from 
sheer  good-nature.  Come,  Temperance,  have  you  brought 
me  no  letter  ?" 

The  men's  suspicions  were  disarmed  by  the  open  way  in 
which  Temperance  Turner  produced  two  letters  from  his 
wallet  and  by  the  eager  boyish  fashion  in  which  the  young 
captain  snatched  at  them,  and  breaking  the  seal  of  one, 
began  to  read  as  he  slowly  paced  back  to  the  terrace. 

"  A  love-letter,"  said  Temperance,  winking.  "  Now  who 
can  tell  me  whether  any  one  of  the  name  of  Original  Sin 
Smith  be  at  the  castle  ?" 

"You've  not  brought  a  love-letter  for  him,  aye  ?"  said  one 
of  the  men,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  vow  'tis  from  a  woman,"  said  Temperance,  his  eyes 
twinkling,  as  he  took  a  third  letter  from  his  wallet. 

"  There  he  be,"  said  one  of  the  soldiers — "  yonder  long- 
faced  man  coming  down  the  steps." 

Temperance  shuffled  forward  with  a  respectful  bow. 

"No  vagabond  minstrels  should  be  admitted  into  this 
godly  garrison,"  said  Original  Sin,  severely.  "  How  did  you 
gain  admittance  ?" 


218 

"  So  please  you,  master,  I  be  no  vagabond ;  I  be  a  godly 
psalm-singer ;  also  a  news-bearer  and  letter-carrier  among 
those  well  affected  to  the  Parliament" 

"  I  heard  you  playing  a  profane  ballad  but  now,"  said 
Original.  "  Tis  not  seemly — not  seemly." 

"Nay,  sir,  'twas  a  spiritual  song,"  protested  Temperance, 
with  the  most  sober  face  possible;  and  forthwith  he  took 
up  his  rebec  and  bow  and  began  dolefully  to  scrape  out  at 
a  funereal  pace  the  gay  tune  of  "  Sumer  is  icumen  in,"  which 
was  so  strangely  metamorphosed  that  a  more  musical  per- 
son than  Original  Sin  might  have  been  deceived.  The 
hunchback  then  paused  and  produced  the  letter  once  more. 
"  I  come  but  lately  from  Katterham,  at  the  other  side  of 
this  county,  and  a  yeoman's  wife  there  gave  me  a  letter  to 
bear  to  one  named  Original  Sin  Smith,"  he  observed. 

"Right!  'tis  for  me,"  said  Original,  eagerly,  the  affected 
formality  fading  from  his  face  and  manner  as  he  took  the 
letter.  All  that  was  good  in  him  seemed  to  be  touched 
into  life  by  the  thought  of  his  old  mother  at  the  farm 
far  away.  "  Wait  but  to  carry  back  a  reply,"  he  said  to 
Temperance,  "  and  I  will  give  you  a  •  shilling  for  your 
pains,  man." 

Temperance  raised  his  hat  and  scraped  his  foot ;  then 
turning  towards  the  terrace,  he  again  approached  Joscelyn, 
who  still  paced  to  and  fro,  engrossed  in  his  letters. 

Glancing  round  as  he  heard  a  step  behind  him,  he  sud- 
denly confronted  the  eager  and  strangely  pathetic  face  of 
the  hunchback.  The  dark  eyes  which  could  twinkle  with 
such  humor  and  fun  were  full  now  of  a  dumb  devotion 
which  made  him  think  of  the  eyes  of  Cymro.  Coming 
straight  back  from  thoughts  of  Clemency  and  dreams  of 
love,  Joscelyn  felt  a  pity  and  a  tenderness  to  this  poor 
fellow  which  he  could  not  have  explained,  but  which 
made  his  manner  more  than  usually  kind  and  winning. 


"'NO    VAGABOND    MINSTRELS    SHOULD    BE   ADMITTED.'" 


[Page  217 


2I9 

"  You  have  been  a  good  friend  to  me,  Temperance,"  he 
said.  "  These  letters  are  worth  their  weight  in  gold.  Now, 
can  I  serve  you  in  any  way  ?" 

"  Eh,  master,"  said  the  hunchback,  "  you  can  trust  me  to 
be  your  messenger.  These  many  years  have  I  hoped  for 
the  chance  of  showing  you  my  gratitude.  For  I've  not 
forgot,  master  ;  I've  not  forgot." 

"  Gratitude  !"  said  Joscelyn,  looking  perplexed  ;  "  for 
what  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  mind,  master,  how  four  years  ago  you  saved 
my  lass  from  dishonor  ? — how  you  warned  me  what  Master 
Jervis  was  after  ?  Belike  you  forget,  since  'tis  countless  the 
ones  that  he  has  ruined ;  but  my  lass  was  saved,  master, 
and  'twas  your  doing.  I'll  never  forget  it  to  you,  and  if 
you'll  let  me  be  your  messenger,  why,  a  right  trusty  one 
will  I  be." 

Joscelyn  was  much  moved  by  the  hunchback's  sincere 
devotion.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  a  visit  which  he  and 
Jervis  had  paid  at  Bletchingley  during  his  first  long  vaca- 
tion, and  many  forgotten  details  flashed  back  into  his 
mind.  In  truth,  though  he  never  realized  this,  it  was  in  a 
great  degree  his  disgust  at  the  shameless  profligacy  and 
selfishness  shown  by  Jervis  during  that  summer  holiday 
which  helped  to  mould  his  own  character.  Even  in  those 
old  days,  when  neither  of  them  had  thought  of  actual 
division,  Jervis  had  not  scrupled  to  taunt  him  with  the  name 
of  "  Puritan,"  and  undoubtedly  he  had  learned  much,  in 
Spartan  fashion,  from  the  utter  lack  of  self-control  which 
his  elder  brother  had  exhibited.  A  weaker  nature  would 
almost  inevitably  have  been  contaminated,  but  Joscelyn, 
with  his  strong  will,  his  pure  heart,  his  active,  healthy 
mind,  had  come  safely  through  the  ordeal.  Now,  by  a 
strange  coincidence,  that  long  -  forgotten  bit  of  knight- 
errantry,  which  at  the  time  had  evoked  from  Jervis  all  the 


220 

taunts  and  abuse  most  galling  to  the  young  undergraduate, 
brought  him  this  first  letter  from  his  future  wife,  and  a  hope 
of  further  communication  through  the  hunchback  by  no 
means  to  be  despised. 

"  I  will  get  you  a  pass  from  Sir  William  Waller,"  he  said ; 
"then  you  will  be  able  to  come  and  go  without  so  much 
risk.  Tell  me  how  you  got  these  letters  ?" 

"  Master  Dick  came  to  my  cottage  early  one  morning," 
said  Temperance,  "  and  asked  me  to  guide  him  to  Katter- 
ham  Court-house,  and  to  make  some  excuse  for  entering 
the  grounds.  We  set  off  together,  and  he  gave  me  your 
letter,  which  I  delivered  at  the  house,  and  later  on  he  had 
speech  with  Mistress  Coriton,  as  belike  he  tells  you  him- 
self. Next  day  he  and  Master  Jervis  rode  away  to  join  Sir 
Ralph  Hopton's  army,  and  I  started  on  the  tramp  to  Guild- 
ford,  and  so  here." 

"  See,"  said  Joscelyn,  taking  a  twenty-shilling  piece  from 
his  purse,  "here  is  wherewithal  to  keep  you  for  a  while. 
And  if  you  would  serve  me,  do  this  :  Go  at  once  to  the 
house  of  Barnaby,  the  gate-keeper  at  Shortell,  and  meet  us 
to-night  on  the  road  to  Winchester,  bringing  me  news  of  my 
sister's  welfare.  Then  stay  in  those  parts  a  few  days,  and 
bring  me  fresh  tidings,  after  which  I  will  send  you  back 
with  a  letter  to  Katterham." 

Temperance,  greatly  delighted  at  the  trust  reposed  in  him, 
promised  to  do  as  he  was  told,  and  Joscelyn  went  off  to  his 
general,  ready  to  work  all  the  more  cheerfully  because  his 
heart  was  ringing  with  Clemency's  loving  words  and  Dick's 
congratulations.  It  was  not  till  just  before  supper  that  he 
found  a  moment's  leisure  in  which  to  write  a  few  hurried 
lines  to  Rosamond. 

"  Keep  up  your  heart,  fair  Rosamond,"  he  wrote,  "  and 
do  your  best  to  recover.  Your  loving  thought  of  my  safety 


221 


has  not  been  wasted,  but  has  borne  good  fruit.  Yet  that 
the  fruit  become  not  bitter  to  the  taste,  have  a  care  of  your- 
self, I  beg,  and  let  me  know  erelong  that  your  pains  are 
ended  and  your  health  restored.  If  you  lack  aught  or  find 
yourself  in  any  strait,  send  Cymro,  and  trust  me  I  will  come 
to  you,  be  the  way  never  so  difficult.  Sir  William  Waller 
has  kindly  writ  a  letter  of  protection,  which  I  have  sent  to 
Barnaby.  It  will  save  Shortell  from  being  harassed  by  the 
Parliamentarians,  and  had  best  be  kept  by  him  at  the  lodge, 
in  case  you  should  be  molested.  We  march  for  Winchester 
this  night.  I  hear  by  Temperance  Turner  that  Dick  has 
joined  Sir  R.  Hopton's  army,  and  am  in  some  fear  that  he 
and  I  may  find  ourselves  face  to  face  in  open  fight.  Give 
us  your  prayers.  I  cannot  forget  the  grief  of  one  of  our 
soldiers  at  Edgehill,  who  died  on  the  field,  his  wound  hav- 
ing— so  he  told  me — been  given  to  him  by  his  brother,  who 
was  in  the  King's  army,  and  from  whom  he  had  before  re- 
ceived naught  but  kindness.  God  grant  that  such  a  sorrow 
may  not  come  to  Dick,  or  to 

"  Your  loving  brother, 

"JOSCELYN  HEYWORTH." 

The  hunchback  was  true  to  his  word.  As  they  drew  near 
the  appointed  meeting-place  that  evening  Joscelyn  heard, 
above  the  tramp  of  horses  on  the  frosty  road,  the  welcome 
sound  of  the  rebec,  and  the  hundredth  psalm  played  as  only 
Temperance  could  play  it.  The  soldiers  caught  up  the  well- 
known  tune,  and  in  the  dark  night  their  voices  rang  out 
clearly  .- 

"All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell, 

Sing  to  the  Lord  with  cheerful  voice. 
Him  serve  with  fear ;    His  praise  forth  tell ; 
Come  ye  before  Him  and  rejoice." 

At  that  moment  the  hunchback  perceived  his  master, 


222 

but  the  soldiers  no  longer  wanted  the  rebec  to  lead  them, 
and  sang  on  as  they  toiled  up  the  hill,  while  Joscelyn  talked 
eagerly  to  the  quaint  little  messenger  holding  to  his  stirrup- 
leather. 

"  Does  she  do  well  ?"  he  asked,  hopefully. 

"  Aye,  master,  right  well,"  said  Temperance.  "  She  wakes 
only  to  take  food,  and  then  sleeps  again  like  a  new-born 
babe.  The  doctor  says  the  fever  has  left  her." 

"  God  be  thanked,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Bear  her  this  letter, 
Temperance  $  give  it  to  Barnaby ;  he  will  know  how  best  to 
deliver  it.  And  see  you  come  to  me  this  day  sennight  at 
Winchester.  Farewell." 

Temperance  took  the  letter,  and  then,  drawing  his  bow 
across  the  strings,  led  off  boldly  in  the  last  verse  of  the 
psalm,  in  which  Joscelyn  joined  with  the  other  men  as  they 
rode  up  the  long  ascent : 

"  For  why,  the  Lord  our  God  is  good  ; 

His  mercy  is  forever  sure. 
His  truth  at  all  times  firmly  stood, 
And  shall  from  age  to  age  endure." 

After  the  psalm  was  ended,  Joscelyn  rode  for  some  time 
in  silence,  listening  to  the  sound  of  the  rebec  growing  more 
and  more  faint.  At  last  it  died  utterly  away,  and  nothing 
was  to  be  heard  save  the  rumbling  of  the  gun-carriages,  the 
slow  tramp  of  the  foot  regiments,  and  the  sharp  ring  of  the 
horse-hoofs  on  the  frosty  road.  Presently,  as  they  passed  a 
stunted  oak-tree  half-smothered  with  ivy,  a  white  owl  flew 
hooting  by  them,  making  a  momentary  gleam  of  brightness 
in  the  dim  starlight. 

"  I  could  envy  him  his  powers  of  seeing,"  said  Waller. 
"Yet,  though  we  cannot  see  as  cats  and  bats  and  owls 
do,  we  can  see  as  saints  and  angels  see.  Often  has  that 
thought  come  to  me  on  a  dark  night." 


"JOSCELYN   TALKED   EAGERLY  TO   THE   QUAINT  LITTLE  MESSENGER." 

[Page  222. 


223 

"  Yet,"  said  Joscelyn,  attracted  by  the  quiet  sincerity  of 
the  elder  man,  "  in  these  distracted  times  'tis  hard  to  see  in 
that  fashion.  We  fight  as  conscience  bids  us,  yet  see  not 
what  the  result  will  be ,  we  see  but  a  step  before  us." 

"True,"  said  Waller,  "yet  make  but  each  step  with  the 
will  to  serve  God  and  your  neighbor,  and  be  sure  that  in 
some  way  'twill  help  in  making  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
come.  And  those  of  our  foes  who  are  true  men  and  have 
a  zeal  for  righteous  dealing,  why,  be  sure  they  too  advance 
the  good  cause  even  while  appearing  to  thwart  it.  I  know 
that  the  differences  in  your  own  family  are  distressing  to 
you." 

"  If  there  had  been  but  one  of  the  rest  with  me,"  said 
Joscelyn,  "  I  could  better  bear  it.  If  Dick  were  but  with 
me!" 

"Well,  well,"  said  Sir  William,  "perchance  this  cloud  of 
separation  may,  like  the  dark  night,  remind  you  more  of 
that  spiritual  eyesight  we  spoke  on.  Be  it  never  so  dark 
outwardly,  we  can  without  the  help  of  a  candle  look,  in  the 
sense  of  our  wants,  up  to  God,  and  find  a  clear  and  light- 
some passage  through  Christ  to  the  throne  of  grace.  In 
His  light  alone  do  we  see  light." 

"  My  brothers  have  joined  Sir  Ralph  Hopton's  army,' 
said  Joscelyn,  "  and  may,  likely  enough,  be  at  Winchester." 

"They  could  not  serve  under  a  better  man,"  said  Sir 
William,  warmly — "  a  noble,  upright,  God-fearing  man.  I 
know  him  well,  and  have  ever  held  him  in  high  esteem. 
We  were  comrades  in  Germany.  As  for  the  siege,  I  am 
not  without  hopes  that  it  may  be  but  brief,  and  that  when 
summoned  the  city  will  yield  upon  honorable  conditions. 
The  castle,  oddly  enough,  chances  to  be  my  own  inherit- 
ance, and  loath  should  I  be  that  the  fine  old  building,  and 
King  Arthur's  round-table  that  hangs  there,  should  suffer 
damage." 


224 

By  the  time  the  morning  had  dawned,  and  the  weary 
men  halted  to  refresh  themselves  at  Alresford,  Joscelyn 
had  learned  to  know  and  love  his  new  commander.  Waller, 
though  without  the  fascination  and  the  extraordinary  power 
of  Hampden,  was  a  man  of  most  sterling  qualities.  He 
had  served  as  a  volunteer  in  Germany,  fighting  in  the  army 
of  the  Protestant  princes  against  the  Emperor ;  and  later  on, 
as  the  member  for  Andover,  he  had  done  good  service  in 
Parliament.  His  moderation,  though  little  to  the  taste  of 
the  extreme  men  like  Original  Smith,  made  him  thoroughly 
congenial  to  Joscelyn,  and  while  deeply  imbued  with  the 
best  spirit  of  Puritanism,  he  was  much  more  free  from  prej- 
udice than  many  of  the  leaders,  acting  on  some  questions 
with  the  Presbyterians,  on  others  with  the  party  already 
beginning  to  be  known  as  Independents.  He  had  gained 
much  from  his  experience  in  Germany,  and  his  broad- 
minded,  genial  nature,  his  tact  and  courtesy,  together  with 
a  habit  which  he  had  of  making  friends  of  those  who  served 
under  him,  stood  him  now  in  good  stead.  Joscelyn  found 
him  invariably  kind  and  considerate,  though  when  necessity 
arose  he  could  find  fault  with  considerable  sharpness. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

"What  if,  'mid  the  cannon's  thunder, 
Whistling  shot  and  bursting  bomb, 
When  my  brothers  fall  around  me, 

Should  my  heart  grow  cold  and  numb  ?" 
But  the  drum 
Answered :  ' '  Come  ! 

Better  there  in  death  united  than  in  life  a  recreant.     Come !" 

— BRET  HARTE. 

THE  attack  upon  Winchester  began  at  noon  on  Tuesday, 
the  1 2th  of  December,  and,  much  to  Joscelyn's  relief,  the 
city  yielded  after  a  siege  of  little  more  than  two  hours. 
The  castle,  however,  resisted  till  the  following  day,  when 
the  Royalists  sent  out  to  treat  with  Waller,  and  Joscelyn 
and  another  officer  were  sent  as  hostages  to  them  during 
the  parley.  He  wondered  whether  by  any  chance  Dick 
might  be  in  the  castle,  and,  as  he  entered  the  beautiful  old 
hall,  looked  searchingly  round  the  group  of  officers,  meet- 
ing on  all  sides  glances  of  contemptuous  scorn  from  the 
Cavaliers,  who  clearly  regarded  the  hostages  as  base  rebels, 
to  whom  no  sort  of  courtesy  was  due.  Suddenly  a  mocking 
voice  fell  on  his  ear. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  exclaimed  a  young  officer,  lounging 
forward  from  one  of  the  stone  window-seats.  "Yonder, 
gentlemen,  is  my  Roundhead  brother,  crowing  over  the 
conquered  leaders  of  the  ungodly !" 

Turning  round,  Joscelyn  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Jervis,  whose  spirits  did  not  appear  to  be  much  affected  by 
the  loss  of  the  city. 
15 


226 


"  Where  is  Dick  ?  Hath  any  harm  befallen  him  ?  Is  he 
wounded  ?"  asked  Joscelyn,  anxiously. 

"You  had  better  have  been  solicitous  about  his  safety  be- 
fore joining  in  the  siege,"  said  Jervis,  scornfully.  "  Here, 
I  have  a  paper  that  may  perchance  please  you." 

With  a  malicious  laugh  he  handed  him  a  printed  pam- 
phlet, entitled  "  A  Puritan  Set  Forth  in  His  Lively  Colors, 
with  Poems  on  the  Roundhead's  Character." 

Joscelyn  read  a  few  lines  of  the  poem : 

"He  that  would  holy  seem  in  all  men's  sight, 
When  as  he  truly  is  an  hypocrite, 
Would  be  thought  humble  and  not  have  decried 
His  obstinacy  and  spiritual  pride, 

That  would  be  counted  blameless  from  his  youth, 
This  is  a  very  Roundhead  in  good  truth." 

Having  glanced  at  the  outrageous  libel  on  Puritan  women 
which  followed,  he  tore  the  paper  to  bits,  and  was  about  to 
make  a  stinging  retort,  when  Dick  pushed  his  way  through 
the  throng  and  eagerly  grasped  his  hand. 

"  I  have  been  hoping  to  see  you,"  he  exclaimed.  "They 
told  us  Sir  William  Waller  had  taken  Farnham  Castle,  and 
I  knew  you  must  be  free." 

The  two  brothers  withdrew  to  a  window-seat  at  the  other 
side  of  the  hall,  the  noisy  group  of  Cavaliers  on  one  hand, 
and  on  the  other  the  old  round-table  upon  the  wall,  with 
the  names  of  Arthur's  knights.  In  a  hurried  fashion  Dick 
heard  all  that  had  passed  at  Farnham,  of  Rosamond's  brave 
adventure  and  of  that  strange  night  at  the  manor,  while  yet 
more  hurriedly  Joscelyn  heard  of  Dick's  visit  to  Clemency, 
and  of  his  prospects  under  Sir  Ralph  Hopton.  Then — all 
too  soon — the  time  came  for  the  Royalist  officers  to  leave 
the  place,  and  the  friendly  foes  sorrowfully  parted,  the 
victor  looking  even  more  downcast  than  the  vanquished. 


227 

On  the  Thursday  morning  Joscelyn  was  awaiting  his 
general's  orders,  when  a  trooper  rode  up  in  hot  haste  de- 
manding to  see  Sir  William  Waller  on  an  urgent  matter. 
Joscelyn  took  him  into  the  room  where  Sir  William  was 
transacting  business.  The  message  was  from  Colonel 
Nathaniel  Fiennes,  to  the  effect  that  when  Sir  Arthur 
Hazlerigg  and  his  troops  had  entered  the  cathedral, 
which  for  want  of  space  elsewhere  had  been  assigned  to 
them  as  barracks,  the  mob  had  entered  with  them  and 
threatened  to  wreck  the  whole  place,  the  soldiers  becoming 
utterly  demoralized,  and  the  intended  search  for  treasure 
becoming  the  wildest  orgie. 

Waller  instantly  hurried  forth,  and,  mounting  his  horse, 
rode  as  fast  as  possible  to  the  cathedral,  attended  by 
Joscelyn  and  two  or  three  more  officers.  Entering  by  the 
central  door  at  the  west  end,  they  found  the  whole  church 
in  confusion.  The  soldiers,  partly  actuated  by  blind  zeal, 
but  to  a  great  extent  governed  only  by  the  spirit  of  wanton 
destruction,  which  almost  always  seeks  some  outlet  in  the 
first  keen  excitement  of  taking  a  city,  had  fallen  furiously 
upon  the  statues  and  ornaments  of  the  cathedral,  while  all 
the  roughs  in  the  place  had  poured  in  through  the  doors  to 
join  in  the  frolic,  not  without  hope  of  finding  spoil.  When, 
however,  they  found  that  the  plate  had  been  previously  re- 
moved, and  that  the  chests  which  they  had  expected  to  be 
full  of  booty  contained  nothing  but  bones,  they  snatched 
up  these,  and  in  sheer  mad  mischief  hurled  them  at  the 
beautiful  stained-glass  windows  in  the  choir.  Joscelyn's 
first  thought  was  of  William  of  Wykeham's  tomb.  Fighting 
a  passage  through  the  crowd  in  the  nave,  he  made  his  way 
to  the  well-known  chantry,  where  a  desperate  struggle  was 
going  on.  Already,  apparently,  some  of  the  statues  within 
had  been  dragged  to  the  ground  and  shattered  to  pieces, 
but  the  effigy  of  the  founder  of  the  college  was  still  un- 


228 

harmed,  and  the  Parliamentary  Colonel  Fiennes,  himself  a 
Wykehamist,  was  making  a  gallant  effort  to  save  it  from 
destruction.  Mindful  of  his  own  school -days,  Joscelyn 
rushed  to  the  rescue,  the  attackers  were  driven  back,  and 
he  stood  side  by  side  with  Colonel  Fiennes  guarding  the 
door  of  the  chantry  with  drawn  sword,  and  watching  dis- 
tastefully enough  the  havoc  that  was  going  on  all  around. 

With  much  difficulty  Waller  contrived  to  exclude  the 
mob,  after  which  the  soldiers  became  more  manageable, 
and  before  long,  being  really  in  need  of  food  and  rest,  they 
began  to  make  preparations  for  the  night,  and  the  con- 
fusion ceased.  The  cathedral  afforded  too  convenient  a 
resting-place  to  escape  use  as  sleeping-quarters  for  the  men, 
but  the  officers  received  orders  not  to  permit  the  defilement 
of  the  place,  which  had  so  outraged  all  people  of  any  refine- 
ment during  the  autumn  occupation  of  Worcester  Cathedral 
by  some  of  Essex's  troops.  Still,  there  was  much  that  jarred 
upon  one  of  Joscelyn's  temperament  and  training.  He  was 
without  his  father's  intense  feeling  of  reverence  for  out- 
ward things  ;  he  cared  very  little  for  forms  and  ceremonies, 
and  would  have  worshipped  just  as  contentedly  in  an  un- 
consecrated  as  in  a  consecrated  building.  But  there  was  a 
certain  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  a  certain  love  of  hav- 
ing all  things  done  decently  and  in  order  that  was  strongly 
ingrained  in  his  nature,  so  that  it  hurt  him  grievously  to 
see  the  soldiers  carrying  off  the  rails  for  fuel,  and  piling  up 
provisions  on  the  communion-table,  not  because  he  thought 
the  act  wrong,  but  because  it  offended  his  good  taste,  just  as 
in  the  days  of  his  childhood,  when  the  communion-table  had 
stood  in  the  centre  aisle  of  the  church  at  Shortell,  he  had  dis- 
liked to  see  the  greasy  hats  of  the  villagers  thrown  upon  it. 

When  the  short  winter  day  closed  in  he  volunteered  to  be 
one  of  the  additional  officers  who  were  to  sleep  in  the 
cathedral  in  case  of  further  outrages,  Colonel  Nathaniel 


229 

Fiennes  having  undertaken  to  guard  the  college  buildings. 
Waller,  as  he  bade  him  good-night,  noticed  his  downcast 
look,  and  lingered  a  minute ;  he  had  much  in  common  with 
Joscelyn,  being  a  man  with  a  quite  unusual  love  of  the  beau- 
tiful— fond  of  music,  fond  of  pictures. 

"The  church  itself  is  unharmed,"  he  said,  "and  we  were 
in  time  to  stop  some  of  the  worst  outrages.  As  for  those 
statues  of  saints,  which  escaped  in  the  time  of  the  Reforma- 
tion, I  have  no  power  to  prevent  the  men  from  destroying 
them.  You  know  Parliament  approves  their  demolition, 
and  will  belike  erelong  issue  an  order  expressly  command- 
ing the  pulling  down  of  all  market  crosses  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  images,  for  they  find  that  many  of  the  ignorant  folk 
still  continue  to  bow  down  to  them,  contrary  to  God's  com- 
mand. In  this  matter  we  must  ignore  our  personal  likings, 
and  fold  them  up  in  the  obedience  of  a  soldier." 

"  I  am  glad  at  least  that  the  tomb  of  William  of  Wyke- 
ham  is  unharmed,"  said  Joscelyn.  And  many  thoughts 
surged  through  his  mind  as  one  of  Waller's  chaplains  gave 
out  the  evening  psalm,  and  through  the  great  cathedral 
there  rang  the  manly  voices  of  the  Puritan  soldiers  in — 

"Oh,  come  and  let  us  now  rejoice, 
And  sing  unto  the  Lord." 

There  was  something  cheering  to  him,  something  that  took 
him  out  of  the  limited  view  of  the  present,  in  the  familiar 
verses : 

"  His  people  doth  He  not  forsake 

At  any  time  or  tide, 
And  in  His  hands  are  all  the  coasts 
Of  all  the  world  so  wide. 

"And  with  His  loving  countenance 

He  looketh  everywhere, 
And  doth  behold  the  tops  of  all 
The  mountains  far  and  near. 


230 

"  Oh,  come,  therefore,  and  worship  Him, 

And  down  before  Him  fall, 
And  let  us  kneel  before  the  Lord, 
The  which  hath  made  us  all." 

Then  for  some  minutes  perfect  silence  reigned  in  the 
cathedral,  while  every  soldier  knelt  in  prayer. 

The  night  accommodation  was  far  from  luxurious,  yet  it 
was  better  than  that  which  they  often  had  in  the  open  air, 
and  Joscelyn  was  soon  sleeping  soundly  beside  William  of 
Wykeham's  chantry,  with  his  head  resting  on  the  narrow 
door-step,  and  his  cloak  wrapped  closely  round  him,  for  the 
night  was  bitterly  cold. 

Now  as  he  slept  he  dreamed  a  dream. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  as  he  was  lying  in  the  nave  of  the 
cathedra],  thinking  very  sorrowfully  of  the  havoc  that  had 
been  made  that  day,  some  one  called  to  him  to  rise.  He 
started  to  his  feet,  and  found  an  aged  bishop  standing  close 
by  him,  and  looking  steadfastly  into  the  face  he  recognized 
the  well-known  features  of  William  of  Wykeham.  The 
bishop  did  not  speak,  but  just  smiled  on  him  in  a  friendly 
fashion.  Joscelyn  was  seized  with  a  sudden  fear  lest  some 
misapprehension  should  cause  his  kindness,  and  he  said : 

"  It  was  Colonel  Nathaniel  Fiennes,  my  lord,  that  saved 
your  tomb  from  dishonor.  It  was  he  who  sent  the  mes- 
senger to  Sir  William  Waller,  and  he  who  first  thought  of 
the  defence." 

"I  know  that,"  said  the  bishop,  "but  you  promptly  aided 
him ;  I  saw  you.  And  now  many  thoughts  trouble  your 
heart.  Go  up  yonder  for  your  answer." 

He  pointed  towards  the  choir,  but  when  Joscelyn  turned 
back  and  would  have  asked  a  question  as  to  what  sort  of 
answer  he  could  possibly  find  there,  \Villiam  of  Wykeham 
had  passed  noiselessly  away.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard 
save  the  breathing  of  the  tired  soldiers  and  the  sighing  of 


23' 

the  night  wind  as  it  blew  through  the  broken  windows. 
Joscelyn  walked  slowly  between  the  ranks  of  sleeping  men 
in  the  nave,  and  pacing  eastward  made  his  way  through  the 
choir,  wondering  where  his  answer  was  to  come  from.  Sud- 
denly he  perceived  that  beside  the  communion-table  stood  a 
cloaked  figure,  and  he  wondered  whether  one  of  the  officers 
had  been  roused  from  sleep,  and  for  a  moment  half  fancied 
that  Colonel  Fiennes  had  returned ;  then  something  in  the 
manly,  upright  bearing  made  him  think  of  Hampden,  and 
he  pressed  eagerly  forward.  If  he  could  only  ask  Colonel 
Hampden's  opinion,  and  know  how  he  felt  in  being  pledged 
to  work  with  those  who  in  many  ways  so  greatly  went 
against  his  personal  likings !  Could  it  possibly  be  Hamp- 
den ?  But  as  he  approached  he  saw  that  it  was  not  so,  for 
this  man's  hair  was  unflecked  with  gray,  and  of  another 
color — darker  than  his  own,  lighter  than  Dick's.  Still,  he 
had  an  unaccountable  feeling  that  it  must  be  some  one  he 
knew,  and  was  puzzled,  as  he  drew  nearer,  to  find  that  the 
face  was  one  he  had  never  seen  either  in  life  or  in  pictures. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  hero,  the  face  of  one  who  had  con- 
quered ;  and  Joscelyn,  soldierlike,  found  himself  wondering 
in  what  war  this  man  could  have  been.  "  Here  is  one  who 
ought  to  rule,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  for  in  truth  he  is  a 
king  of  men."  But  the  man  was  clad  like  any  ordinary 
man  ;  indeed,  his  simple  garb  would  have  been  scorned  by 
many  of  the  rich  men  of  those  times. 

He  was  looking  thoughtfully  down  at  the  soldiers'  rations 
heaped  on  the  communion-table.  Joscelyn  wondered  at 
his  calmness  ,*  but  wherr  their  eyes  met  he  wondered  no 
more,  for  there  was  something  far-seeing  and  all-embracing 
in  the  hero's  look — something  which  said  more  plainly  than 
words,  "  I  see  the  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil."  The 
face  was  the  face  of  a  man  one  would  not  scruple  to  stop 
in  the  street  to  ask  the  way,  it  was  so  truthful  and  kind ; 


232 

the  manner  was  full  of  considerateness,  yet  perfectly  gen- 
uine and  free  from  artificiality.  Joscelyn  gave  him  the 
customary  greeting  of  the  day,  and  began  eagerly  to  tell 
him  of  his  perplexities ;  it  was  impossible  to  feel  the  least 
reserve  or  the  least  fear  when  face  to  face  with  one  who 
evidently  understood.  When  he  paused  there  was  a  brief 
silence.  Then,  with  a  kind  glance  at  him,  the  man  said : 
"  You  are  weary  and  homesick.  Many  troubles  have  of  late 
come  to  you,  and  it  is  quite  natural  you  should  grieve  when 
those  with  whom,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  you  have  sided 
wreck  and  destroy  what  was  meant  to  be  the  glory  of 
God." 

"  The  place  is  dear  to  me,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  As  a  lad  I 
came  here  to  worship.  I  cannot  endure  to  see  it  spoiled." 

"  I  know — I  understand  you — I  remember,"  said  the  man  ; 
and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  so  that  Joscelyn  wondered  of 
what  past  scene  he  could  be  thinking,  but  found  great  com- 
fort in  his  sympathy. 

"  Why  must  such  things  be  ?"  he  cried  ;  "  why  must  they 
be?" 

"  What  has  been  abused  must  ofttimes  be  seemingly  de- 
stroyed," replied  his  companion.  "  Be  patient.  There  is 
a  time  of  restitution." 

Joscelyn  glanced  round  the  desolated  place,  and  for  the 
first  time  noticed  that  the  ground  was  strewn  with  books — 
prayer-books,  psalters,  and  Bibles.  He  picked  up  one  of 
these  last  and  looked  indignantly  at  its  torn  and  mangled 
leaves. 

"  See !"  he  cried  "  They  have  even  torn  the  Word  of 
God  !" 

"  Is  there  aught  new  in  that  ?"  said  the  man,  sadly,  and 
with  a  strange  far-away  look  in  his  eyes.  "  Has  not  that 
been  done  by  friend  and  by  foe,  by  believer  and  by  unbe- 
liever, these  many  years  ?" 


233 

Joscelyn  was  silent,  and  began  to  muse  on  the  meaning 
which  lay  beneath  his  companion's  words. 

"  Remember,"  added  the  man,  in  the  tone  of  one  making 
excuse  for  those  beloved,  "  that  they  who  did  this  were  ig- 
norant and  knew  not  what  they  did,  but  thought  they  were 
serving  the  truth.  I  judge  them  not,  neither  should  you. 
The  Word  of  God  has  to  receive  wounds  which  pain  Him 
more  than  these.  Come  and  see." 

He  led  the  way  down  the  steps,  and  they  passed  among 
the  sleeping  soldiers.  Most  of  them  slept  soundly,  but  some 
dreamed,  and  Joscelyn  was  astonished  to  find  that  he  could 
see  hovering  over  such  the  subject  of  the  dream.  They 
paused  beside  a  young  soldier  who  was  stretched  at  full 
length  on  one  of  the  benches.  Above  him  hovered  three 
men  branded  in  the  cheeks  and  forehead,  and  with  their 
ears  cut  off. 

"  This  soldier,"  said  the  man,  "  was  a  London  apprentice, 
and  stood  in  Palace  Yard  when  honest  men  still  living  on 
this  earth  suffered  in  the  pillory  for  their  opinions.  You 
see  how  cruelly  these  temples  of  God  were  marred." 

They  passed  on  till  they  came  to  the  bishop's  throne,  and 
here,  with  his  head  resting  on  the  cushions,  lay  a  gray- 
haired  officer.  Above  him  hovered  the  likeness  of  a  fair 
young  girl  with  downcast  eyes  and  cheeks  wet  with  tears. 

"  It  is  his  daughter,"  said  the  man,  sorrowfully.  "  She 
was  ruined  by  a  false-tongued  courtier  a4"  Whitehall." 

They  passed  on,  stepping  over  the  debris  of  many  images, 
and  paused  by  a  white-haired  veteran  of  fourscore  years. 
Joscelyn  remembered  that  he  had  seen  this  bitter-looking  fa- 
natic hew  down  a  beautiful  representation  of  the  shepherds 
worshipping  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem.  But  above  him  there 
floated  now  a  dream-picture  which  made  the  two  spectators 
shudder.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  young  woman  bound  to  a 
stake  ;  flames  were  licking  her  bare  feet. 


234 

"  It  is  his  mother,"  said  the  man,  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
with  emotion.  "  As  a  lad  he  saw  her  burned  at  Smithfield. 
He  cannot  forget." 

They  walked  on  a  little  farther,  till  Joscelyn  paused  be- 
fore a  tomb  on  which  had  been  a  representation  of  Christ 
at  the  grave  of  Lazarus,  which  he  well  remembered,  and  had 
always  specially  loved  to  look  upon. 

"  They  have  destroyed  the  Christ !"  he  cried,  in  real 
grief.  "  Surely  they  might  have  reverenced  this — this  that 
Dick  and  I  both  held  dear  in  the  old  days." 

The  man  smiled  kindly.  "  I  am  glad  you  held  it  dear," 
he  said.  "  Yet,  after  all,  there  was  little  need  of  the  stone 
image  when  the  living  presence  was  near  you.  Neither  was 
it  a  true  likeness.  The  statue  represented  an  unnatural 
face,  not  a  true  man's  face — a  man  tempted,  troubled,  lonely 
like  you." 

"  Was  he  in  truth  really  tried  as  I  am  ?"  said  Joscelyn,  in 
astonishment;  for,  like  most  people,  he  had  never  grasped 
the  truth  that  Christ,  when  born  on  the  earth,  had  emptied 
himself  of  all  that  could  give  him  advantage  over  others, 
that  he  was  literally  "  of  no  reputation,"  and  was  "  found  in 
fashion  as  a  man." 

"  Is  it  not  so  written  ?"  said  his  companion. 

"  Yet  I  ever  thought  it  was  far  easier  for  him,"  said  Jos- 
celyn. "  Was  he,  save  for  sin,  just  like  one  of  us  ?  Had  he 
in  truth  all  the  natural  wishes  and  cravings  of  a  man? 
Had  he  to  struggle  for  self-control  ?  Was  he  truly  tempted 
as  we  are  ?" 

"In  all  points,"  said  his  companion.  "  But  I  see  you  do 
not  yet  understand  what  you  have  seen  this  night.  Let  it 
teach  you  that  humanity  is  the  temple  of  the  living  God. 
Let  it  show  you  who  is  in  truth  the  Word  of  the  Father. 
Let  it  prove  to  you  that  in  harming  one  another  you  crucify 
him  afresh,  that  in  serving  one  another  you  are  serving  him." 


235 

"  How  do  you  understand  so  well,  sir  ?  How  do  you 
know  ?"  said  Joscelyn. 

His  question  remained  unanswered  for  a  minute ;  but  as 
they  stood  there  beside  the  shattered  image  of  the  Christ, 
he  felt  constrained  to  look  into  his  companion's  face,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  there  the  well-spring  of  all  wis- 
dom and  power  and  love.  It  was  as  if  new  life  were  being 
poured  into  him. 

"  How  can  such  as  you  feel  for  one  like  me  ?"  he  fal- 
tered. 

The  man  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  smiled  with  the 
strong  patience  of  one  who  had  learned  to  wait. 

"Am  I  not  your  kinsman?"  he  said. 

Then  at  last  Joscelyn  knew  that  he  was  talking  with  the 
Hero  of  Love,  and  remembering  in  what  fight  this  con- 
queror had  overcome,  and  for  the  first  time  noticing  that 
marks  of  the  conflict  were  still  left,  he  thought  his  heart 
must  have  broken  with  love  and  gratitude  had  not  a  strong 
hand  clasped  his  closely — had  not  he  realized  that  love  is 
immortal. 

"  My  Lord  and  my  God  !"  he  cried. 

And  with  the  words  on  his  lips  he  awoke. 

The  cold  gray  light  of  the  winter's  morning  filled  the 
cathedral  and  lit  up  the  fallen  statues  and  the  unharmed 
effigy  of  William  of  Wykeham.  Birds  flew  singing  through 
the  shattered  west  window,  and  the  bugle  sounded  the  re- 
veille. 


CHAPTER    XX 

Do  you  call  it  power  in  a  child  if  he  is  allowed  to  play  with  the 
wheels  and  bands  of  some  vast  engine,  pleased  with  their  murmur 
and  whirl,  till  his  unwise  touch,  wandering  where  it  ought  not,  scatters 
beam  and  wheel  into  ruin  ?  Yet  what  machine  is  so  vast,  so  incogni/- 
able,  as  the  working  of  the  mind  of  a  great  nation  ;  what  child's  hand 
so  wanton  as  the  word  of  a  selfish  king? — RUSKIN. 

41  WRITTEN  AT  THE  COURT-HOUSE,  KATTERHAM, 

"  This  12th  day  of  January. 

"  MY  DEAR  FAITH, — I  was  right  glad  to  hear  that  my 
letter  telling  you  of  our  betrothal  had  been  received  by 
you,  for  in  truth  I  ever  commit  a  letter  to  the  post  nowa- 
days with  many  misgivings,  since  not  only  the  chances  of 
war  are  against  its  safe  delivery,  but  grandfather  says  the  dis- 
pute as  to  the  postmaster  still  occupies  the  Parliament,  and 
that  though  the  sequestration  of  Witherings  (to  whom  we 
owe  so  much  in  the  establishing  of  the  eight  main  postal 
roads)  hath  been  declared  by  vote  to  be  illegal,  yet  the 
quarrel  has  led  to  an  affray  in  which  some  laid  violent 
hands  on  the  mails,  and  this  may  belike  happen  again.  I 
wish  from  my  heart  we  were  on  one  of  the  direct  roads, 
then  we  should  with  much  less  delay  receive  our  letters  ;  still, 
we  should  not  grumble,  being  much  better  off  than  would 
have  been  the  case  seven  years  ago.  Moreover,  we  have 
found  a  trusty  private  messenger  whom  we  may  lawfully 
employ  between  ourselves,  one  Temperance  Turner,  who, 
out  of  gratitude  to  my  dear  love,  will  tramp  all  over  the 
country  betwixt  him  and  me.  Since  I  last  wrote  you  I 
have  seen  Mr.  Richard  Heyworth.  He  was  staying  at 
Bletchingley,  and  most  good-naturedly  walked  over  here 


237 

bearing  me  a  letter  from  Joscelyn.  The  letter  contained 
heavy  news,  for  he  wrote  as  a  prisoner  in  Farnham  Castle, 
but  since  then  I  have  heard  of  his  speedy  release,  so  you 
need  not  be  troubled  at  it.  Mr.  Richard  Heyworth  is  a 
fine  young  officer  with  very  good  manners,  and  in  his  way 
of  speaking  he  resembles  Joscelyn,  but  otherwise  they 
are  not  much  alike.  He  was  full  of  kind  thoughts  for  us  in 
our  trouble,  and  ready  to  serve  us  in  any  way,  and  even 
had  he  been  a  churl  I  must  have  liked  him  because  of  his 
devotion  to  his  brother.  They  are  to  each  other  like  David 
and  Jonathan,  and  it  is  a  sore  grief  to  them  that  in  this  war 
they  are  opposed  to  each  other.  He  had  with  him  a  hunch- 
back, the  messenger  of  whom  I  write — Temperance  Turner 
— by  whom  I  sent  a  letter  to  Farnham,  and,  to  my  great 
joy,  the  man  came  back  at  Epiphany,  bringing  a  long  letter 
from  Joscelyn  at  Chichester.  He  has  already  seen  much  of 
the  horrors  of  war,  but  he  likes  Sir  W.  Waller,  his  new  com- 
mander, and  wrote  me  many  matters  of  interest  with  regard 
to  the  siege  of  Winchester.  From  Winchester  they  marched 
to  Chichester,  having  a  weary  time  of  it,  for  there  was  a 
great  downfall  of  heavy  rains,  and  he  says  that  for  nine 
days  and  nine  nights  they  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have 
a  dry  garment  on  them,  and  were  forced  to  lie  in  the  open 
fields.  He  spent  his  Christmas  Day  in  the  siege  of  Chi- 
chester, but  on  the  2gih  the  city  yielded,  the  King's  party 
being  worn  out  and  unable  to  support  the  fatigue  of  the  duty, 
all  of  which  lay  upon  them,  as  the  citizens  were  mostly  favor- 
able to  the  Parliament  and  ill  pleased  at  the  Royalist  com- 
mander for  exposing  them  to  the  miseries  of  a  siege.  Josce- 
lyn says  there,  as  also  at  Winchester,  great  damage  was  done 
to  the  cathedral,  the  soldiers  breaking  the  painted  window 
facing  the  bishop's  palace,  and  smashing  monuments,  break- 
ing in  pieces  the  communion  -  table  and  the  railings  about 
it,  the  pulpit  and  the  benches  and  pews,  tearing  up  Bibles 


238 

and  prayer-books,  and  acting  like  wild  school-boys  too  long 
kept  at  their  tasks.  All  of  which  you  can  fancy  is  highly 
distasteful  to  one  of  his  turn.  But  he  writes,  '  Better  they 
should  do  this  than  fall  upon  helpless  women  and  children, 
as  is  so  often  the  case  when  the  conquerors  enter  a  city 
after  a  siege.'  It  seems  a  sad  pity  that  the  fine  organ  in 
the  cathedral  should  have  been  pulled  down  by  Waller's 
men,  and  it  must  have  been  little  to  the  liking  of  the  com- 
mander, who,  Joscelyn  says,  hath  a  great  love  for  music. 
But  the  leaden  pipes  were  like  to  be  of  great  use,  so  down 
it  must  come.  When  will  this  weary  war  be  over  ?  I  grow 
sick  with  the  thought  of  the  dangers  that  may  too  likely 
beset  you  at  Gloucester.  Would  that  by  some  magic  I 
could  hear  from  you  each  day  !  But  belike  that  would  not 
be  good  for  our  faith ;  we  might  grow  to  depend  on  the 
magic  message  rather  than  on  God's  care  and  our  com- 
munion with  him. 

"  Joscelyn  is  now  marching  into  Wiltshire.  God  send  he 
may  not  fall  ill  with  this  bitter  cold  weather !  But  he  is 
strong  and  hardy,  and  a  good  courage  carries  one  through 
many  discomforts.  We  heard  this  day  from  London  that 
the  Parliamentary  garrison  at  Cirencester  had  resisted  and 
repulsed  the  Royalist  attack.  This  is  good  hearing,  yet  I 
like  not  to  think  of  the  war  so  near  your  parts.  Christmas 
was  the  most  desolate  I  ever  knew.  Heavy  rain  fell  all  the 
day,  and  though  the  carol-singers  came  round  at  dark,  and 
the  tenants  all  received  their  plum-puddings  on  the  eve,  yet 
there  seemed  no  merriment  save  among  the  children,  who, 
thank  God,  can  forget  the  cloud  overshadowing  the  land. 
Nurse  was  much  pleased  with  your  message.  She  is  just 
turning  your  blue  cloak  for  Hester,  who  had  outgrown  hers. 
I  marvel  that  your  mother-in-law  expected  a  bride  to  be 
clad  in  sad-colored  raiment,  nor  can  I  see  that  there  is 
aught  carnal  in  bright  colors ;  so  long  as  a  dress  be  modest 


239 

and  not  over-costly,  why  must  it  be  sombre  in  hue  ?  You 
should  quote  to  her  Joseph's  many -colored  coat;  and  is 
there  not  much  as  to  bright  colors  in  the  book  of  St.  John's 
Revelation?  From  Chichester  Joscelyn  sent  me  by  his 
messenger  a  betrothal  ring.  'Tis  of  plain  gold,  and  the 
posy  is  ''Pro  Christo  et patriaj  than  which  methinks  we  could 
have  no  better  motto.  I  long  to  talk  of  many  matters  with 
you,  dear  Faith.  Hester  is  over-young,  and  were  it  not  for 
Mrs.  Ursula  and  for  Charlotte,  who  are  both  of  them  ever 
ready  to  talk  of  Joscelyn  to  my  heart's  content,  I  do  not 
know  how  I  should  fare.  Mrs.  Arbella  shakes  her  head 
over  our  betrothal,  and  says  she  had  hoped  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  single  blessedness ;  sometimes  when  she  talks 
with  that  pitying  contempt  of  men,  as  though  they  were  all 
far  beneath  her,  I  feel  moved  to  anger,  but  grandfather 
says  'tis  but  natural,  since  her  father  was  a  self-willed  tyrant 
and  made  her  youth  miserable.  Dear  Mrs.  Ursula  is  differ- 
ent, and  though  even  she  thinks  most  men  bad,  she  can  be 
brought  to  admit  that  there  are  exceptions.  Yesterday  we 
had  a  visit  from  the  Evelyns  of  Wotton.  Mr.  John  Evelyn 
was  as  witty  and  pleasant  as  ever.  While  his  elder  brother 
talked  with  grandfather  he  walked  with  me  in  the  garden, 
telling  me  of  many  improvements  he  hopes  to  make  at 
Wotton  with  his  brother's  permission,  notably  a  fish-pond 
with  an  island  upon  it  and  some  arbors,  besides  a  room 
which  he  may  use  as  his  study.  I  was  glad  to  talk  with 
him,  feeling  that  day  sad  at  heart  about  Joscelyn's  danger. 
I  told  Mr.  Evelyn  of  my  betrothal  and  of  my  anxieties ;  and 
though,  as  you  know,  he  holds  not  with  the  Parliament,  no 
one  could  have  been  more  kind  and  understanding.  Also, 
he  remembered  seeing  Joscelyn  at  the  time  of  your  wed- 
ding, and  spoke  warmly  of  him.  He  explained  to  me  his 
own  position.  His  uncle  Sir  John  Evelyn  of  Godstone  is 
of  course  all  for  the  Parliament,  but  Mr.  Evelyn  holds  on 


240 

most  points  with  the  King,  though  disapproving  of  his  arbi- 
trary measures.  He  therefore  holds  aloof  from  the  war 
and  lives  retired  at  his  brother's  house  at  Wotton,  journey- 
ing now  and  again  to  London.  He  bade  me  turn  my 
thoughts  to  gardening  when  anxious  and  troubled.  '  The 
air  will  be  medicine  to  you,'  said  he,  *  and  the  work  will 
cheer  your  spirits,  and  in  watching  the  slow  growth  and  im- 
provement of  your  pleasaunce  you  will  learn  that  'tis  only 
ill  weeds  that  grow  apace.' 

"  By  the  next  opportunity  we  shall  send  you  six  robes 
and  the  shifts  and  flannels  which  Monnie  wore  as  a  babe. 
Charlotte  takes  the  opportunity  when  the  children  are 
tucked  up  at  night  to  make  you  two  wondrous  smart  lying- 
in  caps,  in  which  you  will  be  able  to  receive  your  Glouces- 
ter friends  when  they  come  for  the  cake  and  caudle.  Have 
a  care  of  yourself,  dear  Faith.  I  could  wish  you  were  here 
in  this  remote  country-side,  where,  as  Mr.  Evelyn  said  the 
other  day,  it  seems  scarcely  credible  that  we  are  not  above 
eighteen  miles  from  London,  and  where  since  the  attack  on 
the  house  last  August  we  have  been  in  no  way  troubled  by 
the  war.  My  grandfather  sends  you  loving  messages  and 
his  regards  to  your  husband.  Your  loving  sister, 

"CLEMENCY  CORITON. 

"  P.S. — I  forgot  to  say  that  Joscelyn  is  in  somewhat  bet- 
ter case  with  Sir  Thomas  Heyworth,  who  spoke  kindly  to 
him  in  their  mutual  trouble  about  Rosamond's  illness.  She 
came  near  dying  of  a  fever,  but  is  now  almost  recovered.  I 
have  a  great  wish  to  see  her ;  she  must  be  an  extraordinary 
brave  child." 


CHAPTER    XXI 

No  tame  and  tutored  echo  she 

Of  all  upon  her  lover's  lips  ; 
She  scorns  to  bear  across  her  soul 

The  changeless  shadow  of  eclipse  ; 
But  full  of  fire  and  living  help 

Discovers  to  my  blinder  eyes 
Green  alleys  that  may  wind — who  knows  ?— 

To  peace  and  paradise. 

— NORMAN  R.  GALE. 

ONE  February  day,  when  the  lamp  had  just  been  lighted 
in  the  study  and  Clemency  had  begun  her  usual  hour's  read- 
ing with  her  grandfather,  they  were  startled  to  hear  sounds 
as  of  some  visitor  arriving.  No  guest  had  been  bidden,  and 
it  was  late  in  the  day  for  any  one  to  arrive  from  the  neigh- 
borhood. Clemency  had  a  sort  of  wild  hope  that  it  might 
be  her  lover,  but  this  vain  imagination  was  speedily  dis- 
pelled, for  the  serving -man  threw  open  the  door  of  the 
study  and  announced  "  Mr.  Bennett." 

Any  one  more  utterly  unlike  Joscelyn  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  conceive,  for  while  the  one  was  eager,  boyish, 
and  high-spirited,  the  other  was  old  for  his  age,  grave  and 
sober,  and  seemed  never  to  shake  off  his  business  cares. 
And  now  a  fresh  anxiety  appeared  to  weigh  heavily  upon 
him,  so  that  she  instantly  guessed  that  something  was 
amiss  with  Faith. 

"  You  bring  us  ill  news  ?"  she  said,  tremulously. 

"Nay,"  he  said,  "you  must  not  be  frightened.  But  we 
are  anxious  about  Faith,  very  anxious.  She  had  a  great 
shock,  some  foolish  body  describing  in  her  presence  all  the 
16 


242 

horrors  that  went  on  when  the  King's  troops  pillaged  Ciren- 
cester.  And  when  the  next  day  the  army  advanced  to 
Gloucester  and  summoned  it,  she  was  grievously  upset." 

"Gloucester  summoned?"  said  Sir  Robert.  "We  had 
heard  nothing  of  that." 

" '  Tvvas  on  the  second  of  this  month,"  said  Christopher 
Bennett,  "but  Colonel  Massey  and  the  mayor  having  re- 
plied twice  that  they  held  the  city  for  the  Parliament,  and 
would  only  deliver  it  upon  an  order  from  those  in  authority, 
Prince  Rupert  retired  to  Cirencester  again,  and  for  the  time 
all  is  peaceful.  As  soon  as  I  could  safely  leave  Faith  I 
came  to  London,  and  while  there  I  obtained  a  pass  from 
Parliament  permitting  Mistress  Coriton  with  attendants  to 
travel,  being  not  without  hope,  sir,  that  you  would  permit  me 
to  take  my  sister-in-law  back  to  Gloucester,  where,  in  truth, 
she  is  sorely  needed.  I  know  not  how  my  poor  little  wife  is 
likely  to  fare  in  her  trouble ,  and  her  cry  is  all  for  Clemency." 

"  We  were  never  parted  before,"  said  Clemency,  "  and  I 
saw  from  her  latest  letter  that  she  was  sad  at  heart.  Oh, 
grandfather,  pray  let  me  go  to  her." 

"  It  is  an  ill  time  for  a  maid  like  you  to  be  travelling," 
said  Sir  Robert,  doubtfully. 

"  But  Christopher  will  be  there  to  take  care  of  me,"  said 
Clemency  ;  "  and  I  have  no  fears.  Charlotte  will  take  good 
care  of  the  children,  and — if  you  would  spare  me — " 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  my  sparing  you,"  said  Sir  Rob- 
ert, "  but  whether  I  ought  to  permit  you  to  run  such  a  risk. 
As  for  the  children,  they  will  be  safe  enough  here,  and 
doubtless  Mrs.  Ursula  and  Mrs.  Arbella  will  take  compas- 
sion on  them.  Charlotte,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  insist  on  go- 
ing with  you." 

"  I  had  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Clemency.  "  May  I 
speak  with  her  at  once  and  see  what  she  says  to  the  plan  ?" 

Having  received  Sir  Robert's  permission,  she  hurried  up 


243 

to  the  third  floor,  where  in  the  nursery  she  found,  to  her  re- 
lief, that  Charlotte  Wells,  the  faithful  servant  who  had  been 
in  the  family  ever  since  Clemency's  own  babyhood,  was  sit- 
ting alone  at  work.  "  The  children  are  having  a  game  of 
'all  hid,'  "  explained  the  nurse,  glancing  up  for  an  instant, 
her  needle  flying  in  and  out  of  her  work  as  she  talked. 
"  'Tis  the  best  game  to  keep  them  happy  these  cold  days 
when  they  are  kept  in  the  house.  Was  that  a  news-letter 
brought  to  the  house  awhile  ago  ?  I  thought  I  heard  a 
horseman  ride  up." 

Then  Clemency  told  of  Mr.  Bennett's  arrival  and  of  the 
news  of  Faith.  Charlotte  let  her  busy  needle  rest  for  a 
minute  and  listened  attentively.  She  was  a  woman  of  about 
forty,  dressed  in  a  straight  linsey  gown  and  neat  white  cap 
and  apron.  Any  one  looking  at  her  must  have  been  struck 
with  the  intelligence  and  the  kindliness  of  her  face ;  there 
was  something  characteristic,  too,  in  her  brisk,  active  move- 
ments, but  only  those  who  had  long  known  her  fully  under- 
stood the  beauty  of  her  character,  with  its  rare  unselfish 
devotion,  its  absorption  in  the  needs  of  other  people.  Sir 
Robert  had  surmised  rightly;  Charlotte  at  once  proposed 
that  she  should  go  to  Gloucester,  and  before  Clemency 
could  even  hint  at  difficulties  or  dangers  the  busy  needle 
was  flying  in  and  out  of  the  work  again,  and  she  was  rap- 
idly settling  what  must  be  done. 

"  I  will  finish  off  this  cloak ,  there  is  not  more  than  half 
an  hour's  work  in  it,"  she  said,  in  her  brisk  voice,  "and 
then,  my  dear,  I  must  pack  our  clothes  as  closely  as  may  be, 
for  I  know  well  Mr.  Bennett  will  grumble  if  we  carry  much 
with  us.  I  never  yet  knew  a  gentleman  that  could  put  up 
with  many  packages.  As  for  the  robes  and  the  caps  and 
things,  why,  they  must  go  in  any  case.  But  there  can  be 
no  call  for  you  to  take  more  than  one  complete  change  of 
clothes,  for  there  is  not  like  to  be  much  company  to  enter- 


244 

tain ;  folks  are  overmuch  occupied  for  amusements  now. 
Then  for  the  children,  I  know  the  other  servants  will  look 
well  to  them,  and,  my  dear,  why  should  you  not  persuade 
your  grandfather  to  ask  the  ladies  from  the  Dower  -  house 
to  stay  here  while  you  are  gone  ?  They  would  be  company 
for  him,  and  would  help  to  keep  things  going  rightly  in  the 
household." 

In  the  end  this  was  really  arranged,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing Mrs.  Ursula  came  hurrying  across  the  wet  grass  in  the 
park  to  take  a  last  farewell  of  Clemency  and  receive  direc- 
tions from  Charlotte  as  to  the  management  of  little  Monnie. 
Her  kind,  strong  face  was  the  first  thing  which  Clemency's 
eyes  rested  on  when  she  woke,  somewhat  later  than  usual, 
after  a  restless  night 

"  You  look  tired,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula,  kissing  the 
girl's  flushed  face,  and  smoothing  back  the  disordered  chest- 
nut hair.  "  I  fear  you  have  been  too  much  excited  to  sleep 
well." 

"I  am  glad  to  be  awake,"  said  Clemency,  "for  I  have 
had  naught  but  ill  dreams.  Christopher  told  us  last  night 
of  the  poor  prisoners  who  were  dragged  by  the  Royalists 
from  Cirencester  to  Oxford.  Had  you  heard  about  them  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula  j  "  we  heard  merely  that  Prince 
Rupert  had  taken  Cirencester.  What  of  the  prisoners  ?" 

"  Cirencester  was  pillaged,  and  as  for  the  prisoners — nigh 
upon  twelve  hundred  of  them — they  were  thrust  into  the 
church,  without  food  or  drink,  many  of  them  being  sorely 
wounded.  Some  were  ransomed,  but  though  the  money 
was  received,  the  officers  insisted  on  their  going  to  Oxford 
to  swell  the  *  Triumph,'  as  they  called  it,  and  be  marched 
past  the  King.  On  the  morrow  they  were  tied  together  in 
couples  and  driven  half  naked  along  the  muddy  roads, 
goaded  and  beaten  as  though  they  were  beasts.  Among 
them,  Christopher  said,  were  many  gentlemen  and  ministers 


245 

and  townsfolk,  besides  the  regular  soldiers  and  officers. 
When  they  got  to  Witney  they  were  again  thrust  into  the 
church  without  food  for  the  night,  and  the  next  day  were 
driven  on  to  Oxford,  and  taken  with  much  triumph  through 
the  streets,  where  the  King  and  many  of  the  nobles,  be- 
sides people  of  the  city,  came  out  to  look  upon  them  and  to 
smile  at  their  misery.  Among  them,  they  say,  was  a  proper 
handsome  man  with  very  white  skin  where  it  could  be  seen 
for  the  blood  of  his  wounds.  He,  not  being  able  to  go,  was 
set  naked  upon  the  bare  back  of  a  horse,  his  wounds  gaping 
and  his  body  smeared  with  blood ;  yet  he  sat  upright  upon 
the  horse  with  an  undaunted  countenance,  and  when  near 
the  King  a  brawling  woman  cried  out  to  him,  '  Ah,  you 
traitorly  rogue !  you  are  well  served.'  Then  he,  with  a 
scornful  look  towards  her,  uttered  a  word  of  reproach,  and 
instantly  dropped  from  his  horse." 

"  Dropped  down  dead,  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Mrs.  Ursula, 
with  a  shudder. 

"  Yes,  at  the  very  feet  of  the  King.  And  all  night  I  have 
seen  this  again  and  again,  and  each  time  the  prisoner  had 
the  face  of  Joscelyn." 

"  Yet  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have  been  at  Ciren- 
cester ;  had  Sir  William  Waller's  army  been  there  the  place 
would  scarcely  have  been  taken,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula.  "  And 
certainly  Mr.  Bennett  would  have  known  had  it  been  so." 

Clemency  admitted  that  this  was  probable,  and  with  the 
morning  sunshine  and  Mrs.  Ursula's  calm  reassuring  voice 
she  soon  escaped  the  terror  into  which  her  dream  had 
thrown  her.  "  Oh,  if  all  the  King's  followers  were  but  like 
you!"  she  sighed,  throwing  her  arms  round  Mrs.  Ursula's 
neck.  "  Yet  how  you  can  find  it  in  your  heart  to  desire 
the  triumph  of  a  king  who  cares  so  little  for  the  sufferings 
of  his  people  passes  my  understanding." 

"I  honor  his  office,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula.     "As  a  man  he 


246 

hath  doubtless  some  faults,  though  even  you  must  admit 
that  he  also  has  many  virtues." 

"  He  hath  great  love  to  his  wife  and  children,  doubtless," 
said  Clemency,  "but  there  is  no  special  merit  in  that;  most 
decent  men  have  as  much.  And  they  say  he  is  religious, 
but  'tis  methinks  a  strange  religion  which  can  permit  a  man 
to  break  faith,  to  deceive,  to  be  wholly  without  truthfulness. 
As  to  honoring  the  office,  why,  if  he  has  abused  the  office  I 
should  think  God  would  remove  him  from  it  as  Saul  was 
removed." 

"  Child,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula,  "  you  are  young,  and  the 
young  are  hard.  Do  not  judge  one  the  difficulties  of  whose 
position  you  know  not.  'Tis  no  small  thing  that  a  prince 
trained  in  the  corrupt  court  of  King  James  hath  grown  up 
pure- hearted  and  well-meaning.  And  now  do  not  let  us 
say  more  of  matters  whereon  we  differ.  Here  is  your  bowl 
of  milk  and  a  manchet,  every  morsel  of  which  you  must  eat, 
for  who  knows  where  you  will  dine,  or  when  ?" 

She  bustled  about,  helping  in  all  the  manifold  prepara- 
tions for  the  journey,  and  her  kind  face  was  the  last  Clem- 
ency's eyes  rested  on  when,  mounted  on  her  pillion  behind 
Christopher  Bennett,  she  -looked  sorrowfully  from  one  to 
another  of  the  little  group  gathered  at  the  great  door  to 
see  them  start  on  their  travels.  There  was  her  grandfather 
looking  wan  and  haggard  as  if  he  had  slept  little,  and  Hes- 
ter very  white  and  quiet,  and  Prue  dissolved  in  tears,  and 
Hal  waving  his  hand  and  shouting  words  of  good  cheer. 
Lastly  there  was  Mrs.  Ursula,  trim,  erect,  vigorous,  stand- 
ing by  the  large  rounded  box-bush  and  holding  up  little 
Monnie  in  her  strong  arms. 

The  journey  was  a  tedious  one,  and  owing  to  the  position 
of  the  King's  troops  they  were  obliged  to  take  a  circuitous 
road.  Fortunately  the  weather  proved  all  that  could  be 
wished,  and  spite  of  the  anxiety  about  Faith  and  the  many 


247 

perils  of  the  way,  Clemency  contrived  to  get  some  hours  of 
real  enjoyment  during  that  strange  week,  as  they  journeyed 
along  the  rough  roads  in  the  mild,  still  February  days,  with 
their  misty  brightness  and  their  first  faint  promise  of  spring. 

When  they  reached  Gloucestershire  the  possibilities  of 
enjoyment  grew  more  difficult,  for  here  the  country  showed 
marked  signs  of  the  wretchedness  of  war.  Several  times 
they  passed  houses  that  had  been  wantonly  burned  by  the 
dreaded  "  Prince  Robber,"  as  in  these  parts  he  was  invari- 
ably called,  and  Clemency  was  often  haunted  at  night  by 
the  sad  sights  which  had  forced  themselves  on  her  notice 
during  the  day's  ride  —  haggard,  broken-hearted  women, 
children  ragged  and  half  starved,  men  suffering  from  griev- 
ous wounds,  or  hopelessly  maimed  in  the  strife. 

"  You  might  give  them  just  an  alms,"  suggested  Char- 
lotte, whose  kind  heart  ached  at  the  sight  of  so  much 
misery.  And  with  the  help  of  her  trusty  servant  Clemency 
procured  at  the  next  inn  a  handful  of  groats,  half-groats, 
and  pence  in  exchange  for  a  crown,  and  found  some  pleas- 
ure in  seeing  the  sad  faces  brighten  as  they  received  this 
trifling  help.  Once  as  she  was  riding  very  wearily  one 
clear  cold  afternoon,  holding  with  one  hand  to  Christopher 
Bennett  and  in  the  other  hand  keeping  a  groat  ready  for 
the  next  needy  person  they  met,  her  eye  happened  to  fall 
on  the  motto  engraved  on  the  coin,  in  which  the  King  was 
described  as  the  Protector  of  Religion,  English  laws,  and 
free  Parliaments.  As  she  mused  on  the  words  it  seemed 
to  her  more  and  more  difficult  to  understand  the  position  of 
Mrs.  Ursula  and  Mrs.  Arbella,  and,  recalling  all  that  she 
had  so  often  learned  from  her  grandfather  of  the  terrible  tyr- 
anny and  injustice  which  had  caused  the  present  war,  her 
heart  grew  hot  with  indignation  against  the  one  who  was  re- 
sponsible for  so  much  suffering  and  wrong.  Only  now  did 
she  fully  realize  how  great  the  evil  must  have  been  which 


248 

led  a  man  like  Colonel  Hampden  to  face  for  the  country  he 
so  much  loved  all  the  horrors  of  civil  war.  Nothing  could 
have  led  such  a  one  to  adopt  that  desperate  course  but  a 
disease  that  threatened  to  destroy  the  liberties  of  England. 

"Clemency,"  said  her  brother-in-law,  "look  yonder! 
There  is  the  tower  of  the -cathedral." 

She  turned  and  saw  with  a  throb  of  delight  the  beautiful 
tower  standing  out  distinctly  against  the  sunset  sky,  and  in 
her  intense  relief  at  the  thought  of  being  near  to  Faith,  her 
face  softened  and  her  indignation  died  away. 

"The  young  Mrs.  Ursula  said  it  was  hard,"  she  thought 
to  herself.  '"  I  hope  I  shall  grow  less  ready  to  judge  hard 
judgments.  I  will  try  to  think  of  what  she  said  about  the 
King's  ill  training,  and  of  what  grandfather  says  of  his  bad 
advisers  and  the  Queen's  evil  influence.  Belike  there  be 
but  few  men  who  would  have  acted  differently  under  the 
same  conditions." 

A  wretched-looking  trio  by  the  way-side  here  attracted 
her  attention — a  man  with  scarred  face  and  but  one  leg ;  a 
woman  in  the  last  stage  of  exhaustion  clasping  in  her  arms 
an  infant  so  tiny  that  it  seemed  scarcely  human.  The  sight 
of  its  poor  little  shrivelled  face  made  the  tears  rush  to 
Clemency's  eyes ;  to  her  dying  day  she  could  recall  it. 
With  a  word  of  pity  she  dropped  her  groat  into  the  hand  of 
the  mother.  As  for  Charlotte,  she  made  Mr.  Bennett's  man 
stop  his  horse,  and,  taking  off  her  own  warm  shawl,  held  it 
towards  the  poor  wayfarer. 

"Wrap  it  round  yourself  and  the  babe,  my  dear,"  she 
said  in  her  motherly  voice.  "  'Tis  the  only  chance  of  sav- 
ing you." 

It  was  almost  dark  as  they  rode  over  the  bridge  and 
through  the  gateway  into  Gloucester,  and  Clemency  was  so 
weary  that  she  could  scarcely  stand  when  one  of  the  serving- 
men  lifted  her  from  her  pillion.  They  were  at  the  south- 


249 

east  corner  of  the  close — or,  as  it  was  called,  College  Green 
• — and  in  the  dim  light  Clemency  could  just  discern  the 
huge  dark  outline  of  the  cathedral.  Then  Christopher  Ben- 
nett gave  her  his  arm  and  led  her  up  the  path  to  a  gabled 
ivy-covered  house,  and  in  a  minute  she  was  standing  beside 
the  hearth  in  a  snug  wainscoted  parlor,  with  Faith  clinging 
to  her,  half  laughing,  half  crying. 

"  You  are  better  ?"  said  Clemency,  anxiously. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Faith,  "and  nothing  matters  now  that 
you  have  come." 

Clemency  thought  those  were  the  sweetest  words  she  had 
heard  for  many  a  day.  And  really  it  seemed  as  though  her 
arrival  had  put  new  life  and  vigor  into  poor  Faith.  She  be- 
gan to  look  upon  the  bright  side  of  things,  and  there  was  so 
much  to  talk  over  with  Clemency  that  she  had  little  time  to 
brood  over  the  horrors  of  the  past  or  the  fears  for  the  fut- 
ure. They  contrived  to  keep  from  her  the  ominous  news 
of  fighting  in  the  forest  of  Dean  and  of  the  loss  of  the 
little  Parliamentary  garrison  at  Coford;  but  when  Lord 
Herbert,  with  his  army  of  wild  Welshmen  actually  arrived 
before  Gloucester  early  in  March,  it  was  of  course  impos- 
sible to  keep  her  in  ignorance  of  the  danger  that  threatened 
them. 

It  was  reported  that  the  Royalists  were  waiting  for  the 
arrival  of  Prince  Rupert  and  Prince  Maurice  before  act- 
ually attacking  the  city,  and  day  after  day  passed  in  mo- 
notonous anxiety,  and  each  night  the  inhabitants  knew  not 
what  might  happen  before  morning.  Faith  began  to  flag 
terribly,  and  poor  Clemency  suffered  unspeakably  when,  by 
way  doubtless  of  showing  their  sympathy  and  interest,  every 
worthy  matron  who  came  to  the  house  to  inquire  poured 
into  her  ear  the  most  dismal  prognostications,  with  many 
sighs  and  shakes  of  the  head.  She  was  not  only  full  of  anxi- 
ety about  her  sister,  but  in  an  agony  of  suspense  about  her 


lover.  It  was  now  three  months  since  she  had  received  any 
news  of  him,  and  though  it  was  reported  that  Sir  William 
Waller  was  in  Wiltshire,  nothing  definite  was  known,  and 
she  felt  sure  that  Joscelyn  must  be  either  ill  or  wounded, 
unless  indeed  his  letters  had  miscarried. 

One  afternoon  as  she  sat  in  the  window  of  the  little  oak- 
wainscoted  parlor  the  sound  of  a  rebec  played  outside  made 
her  start  to  her  feet.  The  player  was  not  yet  in  sight,  but 
the  voice  was  surely  that  of  the  hunchback  chanting  his  in- 
variable psalm  : 

"  All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell 
Sing  to  the  Lord  with  cheerful  voice." 

Throwing  down  her  needle-work,  Clemency  darted  out, 
and  Temperance  Turner,  who  was  scanning  the  houses  at- 
tentively, quickly  perceived  her  and  came  shambling  for-" 
ward. 

"  Good-morrow,  fair  mistress,"  he  said,  removing  his  stee- 
ple-crowned hat  respectfully.  "I  have  wandered  far  in 
search  of  you." 

"  Come  in,  come  in !"  she  cried,  eagerly,  and  Temperance 
followed  her  into  the  parlor. 

"  All  the  way  to  Katterham  did  I  go  with  a  letter  for 
you,"  he  said,  "  and  then  hearing  you  had  just  gone  to 
Gloucester,  I  went  back  with  the  news  to  Captain  Hey- 
worth,  whom  I  came  up  with  at  Bristol,  where  the  Royalists' |! 
plot  to  deliver  the  city  was  found  out  and  happily  stopped, 
and  the  place  be  now  secured  by  Sir  William  Waller.  And 
here  be  a  fresh  letter  for  you,  mistress,  from  the  captain, 
but  if  I  could  not  find  you  I  was  to  hand  it  to  Colonel 
Massey  to  read." 

Clemency,  eagerly  thanking  him,  bade  him  go  to  the 
kitchen  for  food  and  rest,  and  hastily  unfolding  her  letter 
read  as  follows: 


25' 

"  DEAR  HEART, — I  am  grieved  that  our  friendly  messen- 
ger failed  to  find  you,  but  Sir  Robert  sent  me  a  letter  by 
him  telling  me  of  your  whereabouts,  and  though  it  filled  me 
with  great  anxiety  to  hear  that  you  are  in  the  midst  of  the 
strife,  yet  I  have  great  hopes  that  we  shall  shortly  meet, 
and  that  your  danger  will  soon  be  at  an  end.  Make  it 
known  to  Colonel  Massey  and  to  the  mayor  that  we  are 
now  marching  to  your  relief,  and  that  by  the  24th  we  shall 
attack  the  Welsh  army  at  Highnam  on  the  one  side,  and 
that  Sir  William  desires  that  Gloucester  do  at  the  same  time 
attack  them  on  the  other  side.  Thus  we  shall  have  them 
at  great  advantage.  This  is  a  strange  love-letter,  but  'twas 
thought  best  to  send  the  communication  thus  secretly  and 
in  a  private  manner.  I  trust  your  sister  does  well,  and  that 
you  bore  the  journey  without  great  discomfort.  We  have 
had  much  marching  and  countermarching,  with  some  sharp 
skirmishes,  but  since  taking  Winchester  and  Chichester  no 
serious  siege.  Colonel  N.  Fiennes  hath  been  made  Gov- 
ernor of  Bristol — a  vast  improvement  on  his  predecessor. 
Temperance  travelled  by  way  of  Shortell,  and  brought  me  a 
letter  from  Rosamond,  who  is  now  recovered  from  her  sick- 
ness; my  father  still  remains  at  home,  somewhat  out  of 
health,  and  Dick  and  Jervis  are  with  Sir  Ralph  Hopton  in 
Devon  or  Cornwall.  My  dearest,  I  kiss  your  hands,  and 
rest  ever  Your  faithful  lover  to  serve  you, 

"JOSCELYN  HEYWORTH. 

"  To  Mrs.  Clemency  Coriton,  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Christopher  Ben- 
nett, in  College  Green  at  Gloucester." 

The  news  of  this  promised  succor  cheered  the  sinking 
hearts  of  the  citizens,  though  still  they  were  not  without 
anxiety  lest  Prince  Rupert  should  swoop  down  upon  them 
before  Sir  William  Waller  arrived.  But  that  astute  general 
managed  his  campaign  most  skilfully,  succeeded  in  taking 


2=12 


Malmesbury,  made  a  feint  of  marching  upon  Cirencester, 
which  kept  the  Royalists  at  bay,  and  then  turned  instead  to 
the  forest  of  Dean,  where,  with  the  aid  of  thirty  flat-bot- 
tomed boats  which  he  had  brought  on  carriages  from  Lon- 
don for  the  passage  of  the  Severn,  he  dexterously  contrived 
to  effect  the  crossing  of  his  entire  army  at  Framilode  in 
broad  daylight. 

Meanwhile  at  Gloucester  the  garrison,  which  had  consist- 
ed merely  of  a  hundred  horse  and  some  two  hundred  foot- 
soldiers,  had  been  re-enforced  by  the  welcome  arrival  of  two 
hundred  horse  from  Bristol  under  Captain  John  Fiennes. 
Several  sallies  were  after  this  attempted,  and  Lord  Herbert's 
Welsh  army  suffered  a  good  deal,  while  the  besieged  had  the 
strong  consolation  of  knowing  that  their  help  drew  nigh. 
Clemency  counted  the  very  hours  till  the  24th  of  March,  and 
on  the  23d  she  went  with  her  brother-in-law  to  see  Colonel 
Massey  and  his  gallant  little  band  march  out  of  Gloucester 
to  attack  the  Welsh  army  at  Highnam,  and  in  sick  suspense 
waited  through  the  long  day,  hearing  almost  incessant  firing, 
but  at  nightfall  learning  that  as  yet  Sir  William  Waller's 
army  had  not  arrived.  The  little  band  from  Gloucester  re- 
mained through  that  night  at  Highnam,  and  Clemency 
rightly  guessed  that  all  through  the  hours  of  darkness  her 
lover  was  marching  swiftly  to  their  relief.  She  had  heard 
from  him  of  Sir  William's  almost  invariable  practice  of 
marching  at  night,  and  had  laughed  at  the  nickname  of  the 
"  Night-owl "  which  he  had  received  from  the  Royalists. 

Great  was  her  delight  when,  on  the  morning  of  the  24th, 
Christopher  Bennett  offered  to  take  her  to  the  top  of  the 
cathedral  tower,  that  they  might  see  what  was  passing. 
Walking  through  the  noble  building,  the  beauty  of  which 
did  not  especially  appeal  to  Clemency's  untrained  eye,  they 
passed  through  a  narrow  doorway  to  the  stone  staircase 
which  wound  up  one  of  the  angles  of  the  great  tower.  On 


253 

and  on  they  climbed,  past  the  belfry,  past  the  bells  them- 
selves, till  at  length  a  sudden  burst  of  light  and  a  boister- 
ous buffeting  from  the  cold  March  wind  met  them  as  the 
door  at  the  top  was  thrown  back  and  they  stepped  onto  the 
leads. 

"  See  !"  cried  Christopher  Bennett,  in  great  excitement ; 
"  they  come  !  they  come  !" 

And  Clemency,  looking  in  the  direction  which  he  indi- 
cated, saw  in  the  distance  what  seemed  a  small  dark  spot, 
with  now  and  then  a  curious  flash  of  light  as  the  sun  struck 
upon  pikes  or  helmets.  "  Joscelyn  is  there,"  she  said  to 
herself.  But  somehow  she  could  not  in  the  least  realize  it ; 
could  only  watch  with  a  strange  fascination  the  steady  yet 
seemingly  slow  approach  of  that  moving  blot  on  the  land- 
scape. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  flash,  a  cloud  of  white  smoke,  fol- 
lowed by  a  dull  roar  overpowering  the  rattle  of  musketry 
at  Highnam.  The  Welsh  suddenly  realized  that  they  were 
caught  in  a  trap.  They  made  a  desperate  attack  on  the 
new-comers,  while  at  the  same  time  trying  to  resist  Mas- 
sey's  attack  on  one  of  their  redoubts.  Clemency  watched 
breathlessly.  After  a  time  there  was  a  lull  in  the  firing; 
the  army  of  William  the  Conqueror,  as  the  Parliamentarians 
loved  to  called  Waller,  marched  steadily  on. 

"  The  Welsh  must  have  hung  out  a  flag  of  truce,"  said 
Christopher  Bennett.  "  'Tis  tantalizing  to  be  afar,  seeing 
this  much  and  no  more." 

Clemency  was  not  sure  that  she  could  have  borne  to 
watch  matters  save  from  a  distance.  "  Let  us  come  down 
and  tell  Faith,"  she  said.  "  How  she  will  rejoice  to  know 
that  we  are  once  more  in  safety !" 

Through  the  remainder  of  that  day  the  two  sisters  waited 
as  best  they  could  for  further  news.  Christopher  Bennett 
did  not  return  for  many  hours,  and  the  suspense  was  hard 


254 

to  bear.  The  evening  set  in  cold  and  wet.  They  listened 
with  anxious  hearts  to  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  to  the 
heavy  rain  driving  against  the  window.  Presently  Faith 
heard  her  husband's  step  outside.  "  Run  down,  Clemency," 
she  begged;  "ask  what  tidings  he  has  brought;"  and  Clem- 
ency needed  no  second  bidding,  but  hurried  down  the  dimly 
lighted  staircase. 

"  Do  you  bring  news  of  Joscelyn  ?"  she  cried ;  but  the 
words  had  hardly  left  her  lips  when  in  the  entrance-lobby 
some  one  came  striding  past  Christopher  to  greet  her.  "  Oh, 
dear  heart !"  she  cried,  in  a  sudden  rapture  of  surprise  and 
relief,  "  is  it  you  ?" 

As  for  Joscelyn,  he  forgot  war  and  weariness  and  the 
presence  of  Christopher  Bennett,  and  only  knew  that  after 
months  of  separation  he  once  more  clasped  Clemency  in 
his  arms.  It  was  perhaps  not  until  that  moment  that  either 
of  them  fully  realized  how  entirely  they  belonged  to  each 
other,  and  it  was  almost  more  with  the  look  and  tone  of  a 
wife  than  as  a  recently  betrothed  girl  that  Clemency  ex- 
claimed, "  You  have  been  marching  all  night,  and  how  wet 
and  weary  you  are  !" 

"  Who  would  murmur  at  hard  work  when  this  is  at  the 
end  of  it?"  said  Joscelyn,  looking  into  the  sweet  hazel  eyes, 
which  seemed  to  gaze  into  his  very  heart. 

And,  in  truth,  she  had  never  seen  him  look  more  strong 
and  manly  and  full  of  life  than  he  did  at  that  moment, 
though  his  hair  hung  in  a  tangled  wet  mass  about  his  steel 
gorget,  and  his  eyes,  in  spite  of  their  bright  gladness,  told 
the  tale  of  thirty-six  hours  without  sleep — hours  full  of  deep 
anxiety  and  strenuous  bodily  exertion. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  waking  and  rinding  all  this  but  a  dream," 
said  Clemency,  when,  later  on,  supper  being  ended,  she  sat 
with  him  beside  the  hearth  in  the  withdrawing-room.  The 
flickering  firelight  fell  on  her  chestnut  hair,  and  the  two 


255 

somewhat  dim  candles  in  solid  silver  candlesticks  shed  a 
soft  mellow  radiance  on  her  delicately  pure  coloring.  In 
her  lover's  honor  she  had  put  on  that  second  dress  which 
Charlotte  had  allowed  her  to  bring  from  home,  and  the  soft 
folds  of  gray  velvet  relieved  at  the  neck  and  sleeves  by  wide 
ruffles  of  fine  white  cambric  seemed  to  enhance  the  beauty 
of  her  face  and  figure. 

"  To  me,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  the  war  seems  like  a  bad 
dream  and  our  love  the  reality ;  and  yet,  did  you  not  share 
that  love  of  our  country  which  nerves  us  for  the  fight,  you 
could  never  be  to  me  the  strength  and  stay  that  you  are." 

"  In  truth,"  said  Clemency,  "  we  women  fight  also,  but  it 
is  our  fears  that  we  have  to  conquer.  Sometimes  it  seems 
to  me  an  ill  omen  that  I  first  knew  I  loved  you  through 
deadly  terror  lest  you  should  be  harmed.  Your  outward 
foes  are  perhaps  more  easily  repulsed  and  kept  at  bay. 
They  say  husbands  and  wives  should  be  complement  of 
each  other,  that  their  characters  should  be  unlike.  What 
do  you  think  ?" 

Joscelyn  smiled.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  God  made 
your  patience  to  cure  my  impatience,  your  tenderness  to 
amend  my  hardness." 

"  Hush !"  she  said,  laying  her  finger  on  his  lips,  with  a 
smile.  "  For  my  part,  I  am  sure  that  'tis  your  brave  hope 
that  must  chase  away  my  coward  fear.  Oh,  Joscelyn  !  I  do 
hope  that  I,  too,  may  be  true  to  our  motto,  and  serve  Christ 
and  the  country." 

Joscelyn  did  not  speak,  but  stooping  down,  kissed  her 
with  grave  and  tender  reverence  on  the  lips.  He  thought 
to  himself  that  Clemency's  prayers  were  likely  to  do  more 
for  the  country  than  men's  swords. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

The  habit  of  living  lightly  hearted,  in  daily  presence  of  death,  al- 
ways has  had,  and  must  have,  power  both  in  the  making  and  testing 
of  honest  men. — RUSKIN. 

THE  2$th  of  March,  at  that  time  reckoned  as  New-year's 
Day,  dawned  brightly  in  Gloucester ;  the  sun  shone,  the  cit- 
izens rejoiced  in  their  deliverance,  and  the  Blue  Regiment 
of  Dennis  Wise,  the  mayor,  was  ordered  to  conduct  the 
Welsh  prisoners  in  triumph  from  Highnam  to  the  city.  But 
in  the  gabled  house  in  College  Green  there  was  sorrow. 
Joscelyn,  worn  out  with  the  arduous  march  from  Malmes- 
bury  and  the  excitement  of  the  previous  day,  had  slept 
soundly  in  the  attic  room,  but  no  one  else  had  slept  at  all, 
and  as  he  came  down  the  creaking  stair  the  next  morning 
Clemency  met  him  on  the  landing  of  the  first  story  with  a 
whispered  warning  to  tread  softly,  for  Faith  was  grievous- 
ly ill. 

"  My  dearest,"  he  said,  following  her  into  the  withdraw- 
ing-room  where  only  a  few  hours  before  they  had  talked  so 
happily,  "  is  your  sister  in  such  great  danger  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Clemency,  her  tears  falling  fast  as  she  rested 
her  aching  head  on  his  shoulder.  "  They  have  great  hope 
that  Faith  will  recover,  but  her  babe  is  dead,  the  little  son 
she  had  longed  for.  Charlotte  has  laid  him  here  in  the 
cradle.  Look !" 

Joscelyn  felt  a  choking  in  his  throat  as  he  saw  her  draw 
back  the  sheet  from  the  face  of  the  lovely  little  child,  born 
too  soon  into  this  distracted  world.  He,  who  had  learned  to 


257 

look  unmoved  upon  death  in  its  ghastliest  forms  during  his 
campaign,  found  his  eyes  filling  with  tears  as  he  looked  at 
the  tiny,  peaceful  face  of  the  little  still-born  infant. 

"  'Twould  seem  less  sad  had  he  lived  ever  so  short  a 
time,"  said  Clemency ;  "  but  that  all  her  hopes  and  prepa- 
rations, all  her  pain,  should  end  in  this !  What  does  it  mean  ? 
Why  does  God  let  such  things  be  ?" 

"  Perhaps  He  saw  that  its  body  was  too  frail  for  life  here 
in  these  troubled  times,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Perhaps  its  soul 
did  not  need  the  same  training  that  ours  need." 

"  How  you  comfort  me  !"  said  Clemency,  drying  her  eyes. 
"  Mr.  Bennett's  mother,  who  was  here  an  hour  ago,  spoke 
as  if  the  babe  were  naught,  as  if  all  were  ended,  just  as 
though  she  had  spoken  of  some  animal." 

"  She  can  scarce,  then,  have  looked  on  its  face,"  said  Jos- 
celyn. "  See  how  plainly  that  speaks  already  of  life  and 
character!  After  all,  is  it  such  a  matter  for  sadness  that 
this  innocent  soul  has  gone  back  to  God,  never  having 
drawn  breath  in  a  world  of  sin  ?"  Perhaps  nothing  could 
have  brought  the  two  more  closely  together  than  the  subdued 
talks  which  they  had  during  the  next  few  days.  Sir  Will- 
iam Waller  remained  in  Gloucester  for  a  week ;  and  Jos- 
celyn, though  he  was  hard  at  work  all  day,  supped  and 
slept  at  Christopher  Bennett's  house,  contriving  each  even- 
ing to  have  one  of  those  long  uninterrupted  interviews  with 
Clemency,  the  memory  of  which  would  have  to  serve  them 
both  through  many  weary  times  of  separation.  One  even- 
ing when  the  anxiety  about  Faith  was  over  and  the  doctor 
had  pronounced  her  to  be  in  a  fair  way  towards  recovery, 
Christopher  Bennett  induced  Sir  William  Waller  to  sup 
with  them.  Clemency  was  glad  to  meet  the  hero  of  so 
many  adventures,  and  the  courteous  deference  of  Waller's 
manner  to  her  made  her  at  once  understand  Joscelyn's  de- 
votion to  him ;  for  it  was  not  a  mere  surface  politeness,  but 
17 


the  real  chivalry  of  a  noble  nature  revealed  in  singularly 
perfect  manners. 

"I  have  good  news  for  you,  Mrs.  Coriton,"  he  said, 
when  the  greetings  were  over.  "The  Welsh  prisoners, 
whose  privations  and  sufferings  have  been  as  little  to 
my  taste  as  to  yours,  have  this  day  been  released,  on 
promising  not  to  serve  against  the  Parliament.  Between 
fourteen  and  fifteen  hundred  of  them  left  the  city  just 
now." 

"  In  truth,  'twas  impossible  to  feed  them  properly,"  said 
Christopher  Bennett.  "  I  am  right  glad  that  so  many 
mouths  have  been  removed,  and  that  the  churches  are  empty 
once  more." 

"  Have  all  gone  ?"  asked  Clemency. 

"  All  but  the  officers,  of  whom  about  fifty  will  remain  here 
and  a  hundred  have  been  sent  to  Bristol.  They  must  be 
kept  for  exchange ;  but  being  able  to  pay  for  their  quarters 
and  food,  they  are  in  no  hard  case.  Ha !  I  see  your  be- 
trothed questions  that  statement.  He  has  ever  great  com- 
passion on  prisoners,  having  tasted  the  bitterness  of  captiv- 
ity himself  in  the  castle  which  his  courage  and  firmness 
enabled  me  to  take  for  the  Parliament." 

Clemency  looked  a  little  surprised,  not  understanding 
these  words. 

"  I  perceive  you  have  not  heard  that  story,"  said  Sir  Will- 
iam. "  Captain  Heyworth  would  not  sound  his  own  praises, 
of  course,  in  his  love-letters.  Presently  I  will  tell  you  what 
passed,"  and  the  general  smiled  a  little.  His  slight  mus- 
tache and  short  beard  did  not  conceal  his  mouth;  Clem- 
ency thought  it  one  of  the  most  pleasant-looking  she  had 
ever  seen. 

He  changed  the  topic  with  delicate  tact,  and  it  was  not 
until  Joscelyn  had  left  the  room  later  in  the  evening  to 
carry  a  message  to  the  general's  quarter  that  Sir  William 


259 

told  the  story  of  the  siege  of  Farnham  Castle,  and  of  Jos- 
celyn's  conduct  with  regard  to  the  despatches. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Clemency,  "  how  Mr.  Origi- 
nal Smith  could  desert  him  like  that.  We  ever  deemed  him 
a  good  man." 

"  You  must  not  judge  him  hardly,"  said  Sir  William.  "  I 
have  known  many  good  men  yield  to  sudden  panic.  Great 
fear  will  unhinge  a  man  altogether.  There  was  a  strange 
case  of  it  the  other  day,  where  a  trooper  suddenly  beaten 
up  at  night  did  most  obstinately  endeavor  to  bridle  his  com- 
rade instead  of  his  horse  !" 

Clemency  laughed  heartily  at  this  story,  but  grew  grave 
when  her  thoughts  went  back  to  Original  Sin  Smith. 

"  That  he  should  have  believed  Joscelyn  to  be  a  traitor  !" 
she  exclaimed ;  "  that  is  what  I  find  it  hard  to  forgive." 

"His  story  was  so  plausible,"  said  Sir  William,  "that  I 
was  myself  deceived  by  it ;  I  think  the  man  had  truly  per- 
suaded himself  that  family  feeling  had  overcome  Captain 
Heyworth's  honor,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  he  apolo- 
gized with  great  frankness.  It  was  perhaps  difficult  for  one 
of  his  somewhat  fanatical  disposition  to  credit  the  sincerity 
of  a  man  differing  from  him  on  many  points.  Captain 
Heyworth's  tolerant  nature  is  little  likely  to  be  compre- 
hended by  men  of  that  type." 

"  How  slowly  folk  seem  to  understand  each  other  !"  said 
Clemency,  with  a  sigh,  "and  how  slowly  doth  the  good 
cause  advance  among  us  !" 

"  True,"  said  Sir  William ;  "  but  what  a  deal  of  time  is 
spent  in  tuning  before  we  can  hear  any  music  !" 

His  simile  appealed  to  her. 

"  You  think  this  war  is  like  the  tuning  of  many  instru- 
ments ?"  she  said,  looking  into  his  dark,  thoughtful  eyes. 

"  In  truth  I  do,"  he  said ;  "and  God  grant  that  you  and  I 
may  one  day  hear  the  music,  and  that  it  be  not  interrupted, 


260 

as  music  so  oft  is,  by  the  slipping  or  breaking  of  a  string  or 
the  misstopping  of  a  fret." 

At  the  beginning  of  April,  Waller  left  Gloucester,  and 
the  lovers  were  once  more  parted,  yet  the  days  of  Faith's 
recovery  were  not  altogether  unhappy  ones  for  Clemency. 
At  night,  it  is  true,  she  went  through  terrible  hours  of  anx- 
iety when  she  thought  of  Joscelyn  away  on  his  arduous 
march  among  the  Herefordshire  lanes  and  the  wild  Welsh 
passes,  with  Prince  Maurice's  army  in  hot  pursuit.  But  all 
day  she  was  with  her  sister,  and  Faith  clung  to  her  with  a 
warmth  of  love  which  even  in  their  happiest  days  at  Katter- 
ham  she  had  never  shown.  The  two  had  always  been 
specially  fond  of  each  other,  but  yet  it  was  not  until  this 
time  at  Gloucester  that  their  love  began  to  grow  and  deep- 
en, as  love  must  do  if  it  is  to  be  pure,  vigorous,  and  healthy. 

One  great  bond  between  them  was  Clemency's  increasing 
love  and  respect  for  her  brother-in-law  and  Faith's  keen  in- 
terest in  her  sister's  love-story.  She  would  listen  with  gen- 
uine sympathy  to  all  that  Clemency  told  her  about  Josce- 
lyn, and  was  most  anxious  that  the  marriage  should  not  be 
long  postponed. 

"  If  the  King  consents  to  the  Parliament's  proposals,  and 
the  two  armies  are  disbanded,"  she  said,  one  evening,  as 
she  lay  watching  her  sister  rather  wistfully,  "  why  should 
you  not  be  married  at  once  ?  I  would  travel  back  with  you 
to  Katterham,  and  we  would  have  another  wedding  at  the 
Court-house." 

"  Yes,  if  only  the  King  consents  to  the  terms.  But  both 
Sir  William  Waller  and  Colonel  Massey  think  it  little  likely 
he  will  do  so,"  said  Clemency,  twisting  the  flax  on  her 
distaff  without  raising  her  eyes.  Faith  knew  it  was  be- 
cause they  were  full  of  tears.  "  But  the  commissioners  are 
still  at  Oxford,"  she  said,  consolingly.  "  We  can  at  least 
hope  that  this  long  negotiation  will  bring  about  some  good. 


26l 


And  truly  if  the  war  does  not  soon  come  to  an  end  we  shall 
be  ruined,  for  food  and  clothing  have  grievously  risen  in 
price  since  the  King  has  forbidden  trade  with  Gloucester. 
I  know  my  mother-in-law  thinks  me  a  bad  manager,  but  had 
she  begun  house-keeping  in  war-time  perchance  she  would 
judge  me  less  severely." 

"  We  are  no  longer  in  immediate  danger,"  said  Clemency, 
"  and  now  you  will,  at  any  rate,  find  it  easier  to  get  provi- 
sions. Here  comes  Charlotte  with  your  gruel ;  she  does  not 
mean  to  let  you  starve  yourself." 

"  I  bring  you  good  news,  my  dears,"  said  Charlotte,  with 
a  beaming  face.  "  Tidings  have  reached  the  governor  that 
Sir  William  Waller  hath  taken  Ross,  Newnham,  Monmouth, 
and  Chepstow,  all  within  the  few  days  since  leaving  here. 
They  say  everywhere  the  Royalists  fly  at  his  approach." 

"Was  there  no  further  news?"  asked  Clemency,  anxiously; 
"  no  news  of  killed  or  wounded  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Charlotte  ;  "  but  there  seems  to  have  been 
little  blood  shed.  At  Chepstow,  they  say,  Sir  William 
seized  a  ship  called  the  Dragon,  full  of  treasure." 

"That  is  good  hearing,"  said  Clemency.  "Now  the 
poor  soldiers  will  perchance  get  their  pay ;  the  money  had 
fallen  grievously  short,  I  know,  and  Joscelyn  says  'tis  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  keep  the  men  from  plundering  when 
both  money  and  provisions  are  scarce." 

"  I  wonder  if  Prince  Maurice  hath  come  up  with  them," 
said  Faith.  "How  I  wish  we  could  see  what  is  pass- 
ing at  this  very  minute  !  Belike  they  are  floundering  along 
through  some  rough  lane  in  Wales.  Or  Joscelyn  is  out 
with  a  foraging  party,  airing  his  two  Welsh  words  '  Barra 
a  Chaws  '  "  (bread  and  cheese). 

Clemency  smiled  a  little,  more  from  relief  at  seeing 
Faith's  returning  cheerfulness  than  from  any  amusement  at 
her  suggestion.  For,  in  truth,  the  feeling  was  strong  upon 


262 

her  that  at  that  moment  Joscelyn  was  facing  some  serious 
danger,  and  though  she  tried  to  reason  with  herself  upon 
the  folly  of  such  imaginations,  the  feeling  would  not  leave 
her,  but  weighed  upon  her  when  at  length,  wearied  out,  she 
fell  asleep,  and  still  weighed  upon  her  when  the  next  morn- 
ing she  awoke. 

Joscelyn  was  at  this  time  much  nearer  Gloucester  than 
they  imagined,  for  Waller  had  found  it  impossible  to  push 
far  into  Wales.  He  had  only  about  two  thousand  men  with 
him,  and  had  been  unable  to  garrison  the  towns  he  had  tak- 
en, and  now  the  extreme  roughness  of  the  way  made  his 
horse  and  artillery  of  little  use.  Moreover,  Prince  Maurice 
with  his  army  had  contrived  to  cut  off  his  retreat  to  Glouces- 
ter, so  that  a  choice  of  evils  lay  before  him  :  either  he  must 
remain  to  encounter  him  in  an  excessively  unfavorable  po- 
sition, or  he  must  force  his  way  though  the  enemy's  quar- 
ters. Joscelyn,  who  knew  that  his  chief  was  exceptionally 
skilful  in  choosing  his  ground,  was  quite  prepared  to  hear 
that  he  had  decided  with  his  usual  daring  on  the  latter 
course. 

"  'Tis  impossible  to  give  them  battle  here,"  said  Waller, 
"  where  every  field  is  as  good  as  a  fortification,  and  every 
lane  as  disputable  as  a  pass.  Far  better  make  a  push  to 
cut  through  them  than  be  hemmed  in  among  these  hills." 

It  was  arranged  that  the  ordnance  and  the  baggage-wag- 
ons should  cross  the  Severn  at  Aust  passage,  and  it  was 
here  that  Joscelyn  had  the  good-fortune  to  render  real  serv- 
ice to  his  general.  More  intent  on  superintending  the 
speedy  despatch  of  the  artillery  than  on  his  own  safety, 
Waller  allowed  his  horse  to  go  too  near  the  river's  brink, 
and,  to  the  utter  consternation  of  his  men,  the  animal 
plunged  in  with  him.  Being  fully  armored,  he  was  in  great 
peril  of  his  life,  and  the  spectators  were  so  horror-struck 
that  for  a  moment  they  seemed  paralyzed.  Joscelyn  was 


263 

the  only  one  who  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  free  himself 
from  his  more  cumbrous  armor,  and,  when  the  general  rose 
to  the  surface,  to  plunge  into  the  Severn  to  his  rescue.  A 
great  cheer  rose  from  the  men  when,  after  a  few  minutes  of 
breathless  anxiety,  they  saw  their  beloved  general  once 
more  in  safety ;  and  to  his  dying  day  Waller  never  forgot 
his  deliverance  from  what  had  certainly  bid  fair  to  prove 
the  jaws  of  death.  Little  was  said  then,  however,  for  the 
time  was  too  precious  to  be  wasted,  and  the  most  perilous 
piece  of  work  still  lay  before  them.  Having  seen  the  artil- 
lery safely  started  across  the  river,  they  returned  to  Chep- 
stow,  dried  their  soaked  clothes  as  best  they  could,  made  a 
hasty  supper,  and  started  on  their  dangerous  adventure. 
Orders  had  been  sent  that  the  main  body  of  the  army 
should  join  them  in  the  forest  by  two  o'clock.  Waller 
hoped  thus  to  be  able  to  beat  up  the  Royalists  at  Newnham 
in  the  darkness,  and,  true  to  his  agreement,  reached  the  ap- 
pointed place  with  the  vanguard  precisely  at  the  hour  he 
had  named.  Not  a  sign  of  the  main  body  was  to  be  seen. 
They  drew  up  and  waited,  straining  their  ears  to  catch 
the  first  sound  of  advancing  troops.  Nothing  was  to  be 
heard  save  the  whistling  of  the  wind  in  the  forest  trees,  and 
a  slight  stir  in  a  lonely  farm-house  which  stood  in  a  clearing 
just  in  advance  of  them.  The  frightened  country-folk  cau- 
tiously opened  their  casements  and  peeped  out  into  the 
darkness  to  see  what  was  passing ;  the  dogs  barked,  and 
terrified  children  woke  and  made  a  piteous  wailing. 

Sir  William  dismounted  and  began  to  pace  to  and  fro  im- 
patiently. "  Come,  Heyworth,"  he  said,  "  a  brisk  turn  after 
your  cold  bath  will  not  be  amiss,  and  truly  this  east  wind 
pierces  to  one's  very  marrow." 

For  some  time  they  paced  to  and  fro,  Waller  pausing 
every  now  and  then  to  speak  to  the  men  and  to  cheer  their 
hearts. 


264 

"  They  can't  sing  to  keep  themselves  awake,  since  quiet 
is  our  aim,  but  let  them  light  their  pipes,"  he  said;  "'twill 
serve  to  pass  the  time." 

"  Sir,"  cried  Joscelyn,  "  I  hear  horsemen  in  the  forest ; 
surely  at  last  they  come." 

Waller  paused,  and  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  they  heard 
the  welcome  sound  of  horsemen  and  the  clinking  of  arms. 
The  spirits  of  the  men  revived;  and  Joscelyn,  to  whom 
waiting  of  any  sort  was  specially  distasteful,  felt  his  heart 
bound  within  him  at  the  prospect  of  speedy  action.  But  a 
sudden  disappointment  chilled  his  gladness ;  looking  tow- 
ards the  approaching  horsemen,  he  saw,  to  his  dismay,  that 
instead  of  being  Parliamentary  troopers  they  were  merely  a 
gang  of  peaceful  countrymen  going  through  the  forest  with 
their  pack-horses  for  charcoal,  while  the  clinking  of  arms 
proved  to  be  nothing  but  the  rattle  of  the  trappings  on 
their  pack-saddles. 

Some  laughter  arose  from  the  mistake,  and  the  soldiers 
advanced  a  little  farther,  then  again  halted,  passing  the 
weary  time  as  best  they  could  in  smoking  and  chatting. 
The  first  faint  gray  of  dawn  by  this  time  streaked  the  sky, 
and  Sir  William's  anxiety  became  intense.  Still,  nothing 
was  heard  of  the  expected  troops. 

"  I'll  be  bound,"  he  said,  wrathfully,  "  that  some  stupid 
fellow's  drowsiness  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  long  delay. 
They  have  been  caught  napping,  I  dare  swear.  Sluggish 
souls  !  How  long  will  they  lie  lazing  ?" 

"  Perchance,  sir,  the  orders  miscarried,"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  And  while  some  careless  officer  is  drowsing,"  said  Sir 
William,  "  the  devil  is  hunting ;  and,  in  good  truth,  he  hath 
a  way  to  hunt  souls  with  pillows  and  nightcaps.  Some 
folk  seem  to  forget  that  life  consists  in  action.  God  never 
created  us  to  live  in  a  feather-bed." 

Joscelyn  smiled  a  little  at  his  chief's  ardor,  and  guessed 


265 

that  his  surmise  as  to  the  delay  was  correct ;  for  the  men 
were  terribly  in  need  of  rest,  and  it  was  likely  enough  that 
those  away  from  Waller's  inspiring  presence  should  yield  to 
the  strong  craving  for  sleep. 

At  any  moment  it  was  only  too  probable  that  Prince  Mau- 
rice's army  might  swoop  down  upon  the  vanguard,  and, 
weary  as  the  men  were,  it  was  impossible  to  allow  them  to 
rest,  since  at  any  moment  they  were  liable  to  be  surprised. 
Moreover,  to  the  last,  Waller  hoped  that  the  main  body 
would  join  them  in  time.  When  at  last  the  night  had  pass- 
ed and  the  sun  had  risen,  Joscelyn  saw  that  his  face  was 
gray  with  anxiety,  and  knew  that  he  had  the  gravest  doubts 
whether  they  should  ever  come  out  of  the  forest  alive.  Still, 
his  presence  of  mind  did  not  forsake  him.  The  men  break- 
fasted, and  Joscelyn  managed  to  cater  fairly  well  for  his  gen- 
eral, who  composedly  made  a  meal  while  watching  Prince 
Maurice's  men  gathering  to  oppose  him.  The  waiting  in 
the  darkness  had  been  bad  enough,  but  this  desperate  wait- 
ing in  the  full  light  of  day  and  in  sight  of  the  enemy  taxed 
the  courage  of  all.  It  was  with  the  most  intense  feeling  of 
relief  that  at  length  they  were  warned  of  the  approach  of 
the  long -delayed  main  body,  and,  wasting  no  time  in  re- 
proaches, Waller  instantly  gave  the  word  to  advance.  His 
vigorous  face  and  form,  his  cheerful  voice,  filled  the  men 
with  confidence ;  they  knew  that  the  general  under  whom 
they  had  so  long  fought  and  conquered  would  not  desert 
them  in  this  desperate  strait,  but  would  bring  his  army  safe- 
ly through  the  forest  if  it  were  possible,  and  if  not,  would 
die  with  them  there. 

Joscelyn  was  never  able  to  give  any  clear  account  of  the 
day  that  followed  ;  he  only  knew  that  with  the  utmost  skill 
and  presence  of  mind  Waller  somehow  contrived  to  force  a 
way  right  through  the  army  of  Prince  Maurice  ;  could  only 
remember  his  own  confused  and  perilous  share  in  the  work 


266 

as  he  galloped  hither  and  thither  with  messages  from  the 
general ;  and  finally  could  recall  the  relief  of  seeing  the 
tower  of  Gloucester  Cathedral  growing  more  and  more 
distinct  as  they  advanced,  till,  two  miles  from  the  city,  they 
were  met  by  Massey  and  some  infantry,  who  had  learned 
of  their  peril,  but  finding  them  safe,  advanced  to  Tewkes- 
bury,  leaving  the  wearied  troops  for  a  night's  rest  at  Glou- 
cester. 

"  What  can  such  a  day  be  like  ?"  asked  Clemency,  as 
that  evening  the  lovers  sat  hand  in  hand  in  the  gabled 
house.  "  It  sounds  like  a  terrible  game  of  '  all  hid '  more 
than  like  the  sober  warfare  one  has  ever  pictured  in  one's 
mind." 

"  In  truth,  I  think  it  was  not  unlike  a  game  of  chess,  with 
Sir  William  Waller  and  Prince  Maurice  as  the  players,  and 
the  rest  of  us  as  the  pieces,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Being  but  a 
piece,  one  has  but  a  vague  notion  of  the  whole;  that  is 
why  I  can  give  you  no  clear  account  of  the  game.  It  is  to 
me  little  but  a  series  of  desperate  gallops,  now  in  this  direc- 
tion, now  in  that,  with  orders  to  the  different  officers.  Out 
of  the  whole  day  I  see  but  a  few  things  with  any  distinct- 
ness. I  see  the  face  of  a  dead  Cavalier  lying  white  and  stiff 
upon  a  flowery  bank  ;  I  see  some  of  our  forlorn  hope,  away 
down  a  grassy  forest  glade,  falling  beneath  the  Royalists' 
swords ;  I  see  Sir  Arthur  Hazlerigg  soundly  rating  one  of 
his  men  for  some  negligence,  and  cut  short  in  the  midst  of 
his  reproof  by  his  horse  being  shot  beneath  him  ;  I  see  Sir 
William's  eager  look  of  triumph  when,  with  but  slight  loss, 
he  had  safely  brought  us  out  of  the  enemy's  hand ;  and  I 
see  the  strange  contrast  betwixt  a  quiet  nook  in  the  forest, 
where  the  sward  was  all  starred  over  with  starwort  and 
bluebells,  and  the  trees  were  just  coming  into  leaf  and  the 
birds  singing,  while  but  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  one 
came  upon  a  sharp  skirmish,  the  rattle  of  musketry,  the 


WHAT    CAN    SUCH    A    DAY    BE    LIKE?'" 


26; 

clash  of  steel,  and  men  shouting,  '  God  with  us  !'  and  '  St. 
George  for  old  England !' if 

"I  wish,"  sighed  Clemency,  "that  you  had  a  less  dan- 
gerous post." 

"  None  other  would  so  well  please  me,"  said  Joscelyn ; 
"  and  methinks  we  have  small  cause  to  complain,  when 
through  the  whole  campaign  I  have  escaped  without  one 
wound.  My  poor  horses  have  been  less  lucky.  Did  I  tell 
you  that  the  roan  was  shot  under  me  in  Wales?" 

"  No,"  said  Clemency,  with  a  shudder.  "  Ah,  Joscelyn, 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  ever  escape  but  narrowly.  What  is 
your  new  horse  ?" 

"  I  picked  him  up  at  Abergavenny  —  a  fine  chestnut, 
whom  we  have  dubbed  Hotspur.  He  did  good  service  to- 
day in  the  forest ;  with  a  less  swift  horse  I  should  scarce 
have  fared  so  well,  and  might  likely  enough  have  been  dying 
now  alone  in  the  darkness  instead  of  sitting  here  with  you 
in  this  paradise." 

"Yet  to-morrow  you  must  go  once  more,"  said  Clem- 
ency. 

"Yes;  to-morrow  we  attack  Tewkesbury,  and  later  on 
shall  besiege  Hereford.  You  must  not  grudge  us  our  active 
work,  dear  heart;  for,  in  truth,  war  should  be  to  me  in- 
tolerable, with  all  its  suffering  and  separation,  could  not 
one  feel  that  by  fighting  we  do  strike  a  blow  on  behalf  of 
the  liberty  and  progress  so  grievously  endangered  by  the 
King's  tyranny." 

"  Liberty  and  progress  be,  as  you  say,  fair  things  ;  and 
yet,  Joscelyn,  even  for  them,  how  could  I  bear  to  lose 
you?"  said  Clemency,  clinging  to  him.  "They  seem  far 
away  and  vague ;  I  cannot  feel  that  they  are  verily  mine  as 
you  are  mine." 

"  lPro  Christo  et  p atria]  "  he  said,  glancing  at  the  graven 
letters  on  her  ring.  "  There  be  two  claims  which  were  prior 


268 

to  mine.  You  belonged  to  Christ  and  the  country  before 
ever  I  belonged  to  you  and  you  to  me." 

"  Your  serving  is  so  much  more  direct,"  said  Clemency. 
"  Perchance  that  is  why  it  is  easier  for  you  to  realize  mat- 
ters. And  yet  direct  warfare  would  but  ill  suit  women  folk. 
I  should  never  have  been  among  the  maidens  who  crowned 
Judith  with  a  garland  of  olive  for  killing  Holofernes. 
Though  truly  she  must  have  had  a  noble  thought  in  her 
mind.  Did  you  ever  mark  the  words  of  her  prayer  where 
she  speaks  of  God's  character  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "  I  do  not  remember  it." 

"  She  says,  *  For  Thy  power  standeth  not  in  multitude, 
nor  Thy  might  in  strong  men  ;  for  Thou  art  a  God  of  the 
afflicted,  a  helper  of  the  oppressed,  an  upholder  of  the  weak, 
a  protector  of  the  forlorn,  a  saviour  of  them  that  are  with- 
out hope.'  " 

Joscelyn  was  silent,  musing  on  the  strange  beauty  of  the 
words,  and  thinking  of  the  tyranny  under  which  England 
had  so  long  groaned. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

He  who,  though  thus  endued  as  with  a  sense 

And  faculty  for  storm  and  turbulence, 

Is  yet  a  soul  whose  master-bias  leans 

To  home-felt  pleasures  and  to  gentle  scenes. 

— WORDSWORTH. 

THE  negotiations  at  Oxford  having  utterly  failed,  peace 
seemed  little  likely  as  yet  to  come  to  the  country.  Wal- 
ler, still  terribly  hampered  by  want  of  money,  returned  to 
Gloucester  no  less  than  three  times  during  the  next  two 
months,  after  having  captured  Tewkesbury  and  Hereford, 
and  unsuccessfully  attempted  to  take  Worcester.  Early  in 
June  he  received  orders  to  march  into  the  West ;  but  Josce: 
lyn,  not  a  little  to  his  satisfaction,  was  despatched  to  Lon- 
don, partly  on  a  matter  concerning  the  imprisonment  of 
Lord  Scudamore,  one  of  the  Royalists,  who  had  honorably 
given  himself  into  Waller's  hands  at  Hereford,  and,  much 
to  Sir  William's  regret,  had  been  treated  with  scant  consid- 
eration by  the  Parliament,  and  partly  to  see  to  private  mat- 
ters connected  with  the  inheritance  bequeathed  him  by  old 
Mr.  Gainsborough.  He  had  leave  for  three  weeks,  and  had 
set  his  heart  on  meeting  Hampden  once  more.  Nor  was 
he  to  be  disappointed  of  his  hope,  for  the  very  first  night 
of  his  arrival,  going  to  Westminster,  to  the  house  of  Sir 
Robert  Pye  to  deliver  Waller's  letter  relating  to  Lord  Scud- 
amore, he  met  him  face  to  face. 

It  was  night,  and  the  servant,  having  carried  his  name  to 
the  master  of  the  house,  ushered  him  into  a  somewhat  dark 
room,  where  his  host  and  another  man  sat  writing  by  the 


light  of  a  single  lamp.  Joscelyn,  bowing  to  Si*  Robert,  pre- 
sented his  letter,  then  bowed  to  his  companion,  in  the  im- 
perfect light  not  at  all  discerning  his  features  or  greatly 
thinking  about  him,  for  indeed  his  mind  was  full  of  his 
errand. 

Suddenly  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Have  you  forgotten  me,  boy?"  said  Hampden.  Then, 
smiling  a  little  at  Joscelyn's  fervent  greeting,  "  I  have  often 
thought  of  you,"  he  added,  "and  wondered  how  you  fared." 

Plucking  the  shade  from  the  lamp,  he  looked  scrutinizing- 
ly  into  the  bright,  hopeful  face  of  his  protege,  almost  mar- 
velling to  find  that  after  these  long  months  of  arduous  strife 
he  should  still  be  "ruddy,  and  withal  of  a  beautiful  counte- 
nance, and  goodly  to  look  to." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  on  an  errand  of  mercy,"  he  said. 
"  In  our  zeal  for  justice  and  judgment  we  must  not  forget 
that.  Tis  a  hard  case,  this  of  my  Lord  Scudamore,  and  he 
is  as  honorable  a  man  as  any  that  cleave  to  the  King.  Were 
you  present  at  Hereford  when  he  was  taken  ?" 

"Aye,  sir,  I  was  in  attendance  on  Sir  William  Waller 
when  he  visited  Lord  Scudamore  in  the  place  where  he 
lodged.  Rather  than  escape  in  the  confusion  when  we  en- 
tered the  city,  as  many  of  the  other  Royalists  did,  he  hon- 
orably waited,  and  Sir  William,  treating  him,  as  he  ever 
does  those  within  his  power,  with  great  kindness  and  civil- 
ity, did  assure  him  that  he  was  governed  by  instructions  to 
bid  him  to  London,  but  yet  was  loath  to  treat  him  as  a 
prisoner,  but  gave  him  a  pass,  and  took  his  word  that  he 
would  render  himself  up  to  the  Parliament,  making  sure 
'twould  treat  him  with  equal  generosity." 

"It  is  scarce  in  a  mood  to  be  generous  just  now,"  said 
Hampden.  "  Lord  Scudamore,  like  many  another  honorable 
man,  will  most  likely  have  to  bear  the  sins  of  his  party.  I 
will  endeavor  to  do  what  I  may  to  procure  his  exchange, 


but  his  case  is  in  great  danger  of  being  overlooked  in  the 
press  of  urgent  public  matters.  The  discovery  of  this  das- 
tardly plot  of  Edmund  Waller's  hath  broken  down  the  last 
remnants  of  hope  that  the  King  may  come  to  a  better 
mind." 

"  I  have  as  yet  heard  no  details,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "  merely 
that  a  kinsman  of  Sir  William  Waller's  had  been  arrested 
for  some  plot  against  the  Parliament.  Is  it  Edmund  Wal- 
ler, the  poet  ?" 

"  Aye ;  and  I  am  in  the  same  boat  with  Sir  William,  for 
he  is  my  kinsman  also.  Moreover,  my  cousin  Alexander 
Hampden  is  also  implicated,  though  since  throughout  the 
contest  he  has  sided  with  the  King  he  is  not  so  blame- 
worthy. Still,  he  had  the  perfidy  to  come  up  to  Westmin- 
ster with  a  communication  from  the  King  to  the  Parliament, 
all  the  time  knowing  that  a  plot  was  on  foot  by  which  on  a 
given  night  the  Royalists  in  the  city  and  the  suburbs  were 
to  rise,  and,  aided  by  a  force  of  three  thousand  men  which 
the  King  had  promised  to  send,  were  to  seize  the  Lord 
Mayor,  Pym,  myself,  and  sundry  other  leaders,  and  deliver 
up  London." 

"  The  King  entered  on  this  plot  at  the  very  time  that  he 
was  offering  to  negotiate,  sir  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  Aye,  he  did,"  said  Hampden,  with  a  sigh.  "  It  is  all  of 
a  piece  with  his  conduct  at  Brentford.  We  have  striven  to 
think  that  all  the  ill  comes  from  his  Majesty's  evil  advisers, 
but  no  longer  is  it  possible  to  hold  him  guiltless.  With 
such  a  one  at  the  head  the  country  is  doomed." 

Coming  from  the  excitement  of  a  long  and  successful 
campaign  into  the  burdened  atmosphere  of  that  room  at 
Westminster,  Joscelyn  felt  like  a  boy  suddenly  coming  from 
the  brisk  work  and  pleasure  of  school  to  the  unveiling  of 
some  grievous  private  trouble  in  the  home.  Yet  even  now, 
in  this  dark  hour  of  the  Parliament's  troubles,  his  sanguine 


272 

nature  saw  gleams  of  light.  Was  the  country,  after  all,  in 
so  grievous  a  case  when  such  a  man  as  John  Hampden 
lived  and  toiled  ? 

"  Ah,  sir,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  were  but  in  the  place  of  my 
Lord  Essex  all  might  yet  be  well.  Under  you  Sir  William 
Waller  would  work  far  more  harmoniously.  The  coldness 
betwixt  him  and  his  Excellency  increases  every  day." 

"  'Tis  not  to  be  wondered  at,"  said  Sir  Robert  Pye,  "  for 
they  are  like  frost  and  fire,  and  could  never  agree." 

"  The  times  clearly  call  for  reforms  and  changes  in  the 
army,"  said  Hampden,  thoughtfully.  "That  is  a  matter 
upon  which  Colonel  Cromwell  hath  many  times  spoken  with 
me.  You  remember  him  that  we  met  at  my  Lord  Lindsey's 
death-bed  at  Kineton  ?" 

"  No  one  could  forget  Colonel  Cromwell,"  said  Joscelyn  ; 
"  he  seems  to  have  the  power  of  ten  ordinary  men." 

"  He  is  a  man  ever  ready  to  strike  for  the  oppressed," 
said  Hampden.  "  They  tell  me  that  last  month,  near  Grant- 
ham,  with  but  a  worn  and  wearied  handful  of  troopers,  he 
utterly  routed  double  the  number  of  Cavaliers,  and  set  them 
flying  like  chaff  before  the  wind.  Remember  what  I  said 
long  ago — Oliver  Cromwell  will  be  the  greatest  man  of 
these  times." 

Sir  Robert  Pye  smiled  as  he  looked  into  Joscelyn's  ex- 
pressive face. 

"I  see,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  father-in-law,  "that  Cap- 
tain Heyworth,  in  common  with  many  of  the  rest  of  us, 
would  vastly  prefer  to  substitute  your  name,  sir,  for  Cousin 
Oliver's." 

"  In  common  with  many  of  my  friends,  then,  he  over- 
rates my  abilities,"  said  Hampden,  with  the  genuine  humil- 
ity which  so  greatly  added  to  his  power  and  influence.  "  We 
have  sorely  missed  you  in  the  regiment,  Joscelyn,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  had  you  at  the 


273 

siege  of  Reading  and  afterwards,  when,  what  with  sickness 
and  delay,  the  men  were  much  in  need  of  officers  who  could 
keep  up  their  spirits.  While  I  was  away  at  Westminster  a 
mutinous  spirit  broke  out  among  them,  and  I  was  forced  to 
hurry  down  to  them  to  set  things  right.  Officers  seem  to 
forget  that  they  must  keep  in  touch  with  their  men,  who  are 
not  mere  fighting-machines.  There  is  as  much  skill  needed 
in  that  particular  as  in  the  case  of  a  good  rider  who  knows 
how  to  feel  the  mouth  of  his  horse.  I  go  down  to  Bucking- 
hamshire in  two  days'  time  ;  can  you  not  go  with  me  ?  Let 
us  spend  the  Sunday  at  Hampden  House  ;  that  is  to  say,  if 
your  business  can  be  accomplished  by  then." 

"  I  will  undertake  to  do  all  that  is  to  be  done  for  Lord 
Scudamore,"  said  Sir  Robert  Pye  ;  "and  as  long  as  Captain 
Heyworth's  private  matters  keep  him  in  London,  I  hope  he 
will  make  this  house  his  headquarters." 

Hampden  looked  pleased  at  the  suggestion,  for  Joscelyn 
Hey  worth  had  from  the  first  held  a  very  special  place  in  his 
affections,  while  now,  in  the  shadow  of  his  recent  bereave- 
ments, he  felt  more  than  ever  drawn  to  him.  Not  long  after 
the  beginning  of  the  war  he  lost  his  eldest  son,  and  his 
favorite  daughter,  Elizabeth  (Mrs.  Knightley),  had  also  died, 
a  blow  from  which  he  never  recovered.  When,  the  next 
morning,  Joscelyn  saw  him  in  the  full  light  of  the  summer 
sun,  he  noticed  how  greatly  this  trouble  had  shattered 
him,  and  as  they  walked  together  to  Pym's  lodgings  in 
Gray's  Inn  Lane,  Hampden  alluded  to  his  bereavement. 
They  had  been  speaking  of  the  increasing  bitterness  of 
party  feeling  on  each  side,  and  of  the  horrible  slaughter  of 
the  inhabitants  at  Birmingham  by  the  Royalist  troops,  the 
first  very  serious  blot  upon  the  civil  war,  which,  on  the 
whole,  had  been  conducted  with  a  good  deal  of  restraint 
and  honorable  remembrance  that  the  combatants  were,  after 
all,  fellow-countrymen. 
18 


274 

"  I  confess,"  said  Hampden,  "  that  it  had  seemed  to  me 
more  worthy  of  gentlemen  to  leave  my  private  sorrows  un- 
touched, that  they  had  no  call  to  gloat  over  the  sufferings 
of  a  bereaved  father.  But  since  this  plot  of  Edmund  Wal- 
ler's I  see  no  hope  of  any  lessening  of  bitterness  either  on 
our  side  or  on  theirs.  The  Parliament  had  no  sooner  dis- 
covered it  than  they  took  the  wrong  step  of  impeaching  the 
Queen,  a  measure  which  his  Majesty  must  bitterly  resent, 
though,  in  truth,  I  do  believe  she  hath  been  the  most 
fruitful  source  of  all  his  troubles.  A  more  disastrous  mar- 
riage never  was.  The  Queen  hath  alienated  the  King  from 
the  people  and  the  people  from  the  King ;  she  hath  foment- 
ed every  grievance,  and  her  husband  is  as  wax  in  her  hands. 
I  ofttimes  wonder  what  his  Majesty  might  have  been  had  he 
but  been  influenced  by  a  noble,  high-principled  woman,  in- 
stead of  being  dragged  into  the  intrigues  of  one  educated 
in  the  French  court.  We  must  not  forget  in  our  present 
misery  the  great  qualities  his  Majesty  hath — a  sincere  de- 
sire to  serve  God,  and  much  personal  courage.  'Twas  his 
misfortune  to  be  born  to  a  position  for  which  he  was  un- 
fitted, and  to  be  surrounded  by  those  who  developed  the 
worst  side  of  his  nature — that  hopeless  insincerity  which 
hath  been  his  own  undoing  and  the  bane  of  this  bleeding 
country." 

"  Is  it  true,  sir,  that  my  Lord  Essex  is  greatly  hampered 
by  the  want  of  money?"  asked  Joscelyn,  after  a  silence. 

"  Aye,  'tis  true,"  said  Hampden.  "  Money  is  now  being 
collected  for  that  purpose,  and  I  hope  to  arrange  that  it 
shall  be  sent  down  to  the  lord-general  at  Thame  next  week. 
With  that  to  stimulate  matters,  I  trust  he  will  endeavor  to 
push  on  to  Oxford,  for  indeed  the  men  have  suffered  griev- 
ously from  the  long  sojourn  in  low-lying  and  damp  country. 
There  has  been  great  sickness  among  them." 

Joscelyn  marvelled  at  the  patient,  calm  way  in  which  his 


275 

companion  spoke  of  the  procrastination  of  Essex,  so  di- 
rectly opposed  to  his  own  views  of  what  was  wise  and  right. 
But  this  was  characteristic  of  Hampden,  who,  spite  of  his 
eager  temperament,  had  gained  a  masterly  control  over  him- 
self, and  was  never  once  heard  to  murmur  at  the  timid, 
weak  policy  of  his  general,  or  in  any  way  to  heed  the  clam- 
orous voices  which  urged  that  he  himself  should  be  raised 
to  the  post  which  Essex  had  unsatisfactorily  filled.  His 
strong  sense  of  duty  never  permitted  him  to  forget  for  a 
moment  a  soldier's  obedience,  and  though  his  position  on 
the  Close  Committee  which  directed  the  war  made  his  re- 
lations with  Essex  peculiarly  difficult,  he  contrived  with 
rare  modesty  and  tact  to  observe  the  most  strict  reverence 
and  submission  to  his  chief.  Joscelyn  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  make  some  subscription  to  the  fund  for  the  army,  and 
Hampden,  who  had  himself  contributed  two  thousand 
pounds  to  the  cause,  accepted  his  offer  gladly. 

"  You  shall  come  in  with  me  and  speak  a  few  words  with 
Pym,"  he  said,  as  they  approached  Gray's  Inn  Lane.  "  He, 
by-the-way,  is  another  whose  private  life  hath  been  most 
disgracefully  handled  by  the  Cavaliers.  One  might  have 
thought  that  his  austerity  and  his  deep  sense  of  religion 
were  obvious  to  the  most  casual  beholder,  yet  these  servile 
court  scribblers  dare  to  assert  that  his  friendship  with  my 
Lady  Carlisle  is  of  a  vicious  nature.  Most  truly  did  Ham- 
let say,  *  Be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow,  thou 
shalt  not  'scape  calumny.'  " 

In  after-days  Joscelyn  was  glad  to  remember  that  he  had 
once  again  looked  upon  Pym's  forceful  face,  with  its  strong- 
ly marked  brows  and  piercing  eyes,  to  remember  that  the 
hand  which  had  steered  the  Parliament  through  such  deep 
waters  had  grasped  his,  as  with  kindly  words  Pym  referred 
to  the  despatches  which  in  the  previous  November  he  had 
intrusted  to  his  care,  and  which  had  been  so  honorably 


276 

guarded.  But  he  went  away  feeling  sad  at  heart,  for  al- 
ready it  seemed  to  him  that  the  great  leader  was  on  the 
verge  of  breaking  down,  and  those  were  times  in  which  men 
needed  untiring  strength  and  energy. 

Crossing  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  where,  as  if  naught  dis- 
turbed the  country,  he  encountered  some  most  merry  little 
children  being  drawn  by  a  lackey  in  their  tiny  coach,  he 
walked  to  his  attorney's  house,  there  to  arrange  many  mat- 
ters regarding  the  property  left  him  by  old  Mr.  Gains- 
borough, to  procure  the  contribution  which  he  had  prom- 
ised to  the  War  Committee,  and  also  to  sign  his  marriage 
contract— a  ceremony  which  in  those  days  usually  preceded 
the  marriage  by  some  weeks,  and  which  he  deemed  it  pru- 
dent to  settle  while  he  was  in  London.  Then,  having  ar- 
ranged that  the  document  should  be  sent  to  Sir  Robert 
Neal,  he  was  about  to  take  his  leave  when  his  attorney 
checked  him  by  a  question. 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you  were  shortly  go- 
ing to  Somersetshire  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  expect  to  rejoin  Sir  William  Waller  there  in  a  fort- 
night," said  Joscelyn.  "  Can  I  serve  you  there  ?" 

"  I  should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  could  bear  with  you 
a  watch  bequeathed  by  Mr.  Gainsborough,  of  Lincoln,  to 
one  Mr.  Whichcote,  recently  appointed  to  the  living  of 
North  Cadbury,  in  Somersetshire,"  said  the  attorney. 

"  Mr.  Whichcote,  of  Cambridge,  do  you  mean — my  for- 
mer tutor  ?" 

"  Aye,  'tis  the  very  man.  The  watch  by  some  mistake 
was  not  sent  to  him  at  Cambridge,  but  was  brought  here 
with  the  other  effects  that  I  have  in  keeping  for  you.  I 
made  it  over  to  Mr.  Henry  Barrington,  of  the  Inner  Tem- 
ple, who  was  like  to  be  passing  through  Cambridge,  and 
now  I  learn  that  Mr.  Whichcote  hath  gone  to  Somerset- 
shire." 


277 

"  I  will  call,  then,  upon  Mr.  Barrington  and  procure  the 
watch,"  said  Joscelyn.  "To  tell  truth,  I  shall  be  right 
glad  of  an  excuse  for  visiting  my  tutor." 

Accordingly,  Joscelyn  made  his  way  to  the  Temple,  to 
the  chambers  of  his  old  Lincoln  friend,  and  finding  a  paper 
fastened  upon  his  door  bearing  the  mystic  words,  "  Gone 
to  the  devil,"  he  turned  his  steps  towards  Temple  Bar,  and 
soon  discovered  Henry  Barrington  in  the  well-known  tavern 
chiefly  frequented  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  Inns  of  Court. 

They  walked  back  to  the  Temple  together,  talking  of 
many  mutual  acquaintances  at  Lincoln,  and  of  the  recent 
marriage  between  Anne  Barrington  and  a  kinsman  of 
Bishop  Winiffe. 

"  And  as  for  you,"  said  Barrington,  "you  must  clearly  be 
a  favorite  of  the  gods.  Everything  happens  to  you — fort- 
unes are  left  to  you  by  godfathers,  Puritan  heiresses  fall  in 
love  with  you,  all  the  Roundhead  leaders  combine  to  flatter 
you,  and  in  the  war  you  have  developed  into  a  full-fledged 
hero." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Joscelyn,  laughing.  "  The  work  is  pro- 
saic enough,  and  any  man  who  can  stick  on  a  horse  may  be 
a  galloper." 

"  But  not  all  of  us  have  the  luck  to  be  galloper  to  Will- 
iam the  Conquerer,"  said  Barrington,  "  to  carry  the  mes- 
sages of  the  '  Night-owl '  of  world-wide  renown.  As  for  me, 
nothing  happens  to  me,  there  is  nothing  doing  in  the 
courts,  London  is  a  wilderness,  the  war  paralyzes  our  pro- 
fession, and  all  we  can  do  is  to  go  to  the  devil." 

"  Why  not  throw  in  your  lot  with  us  ?"  said  Joscelyn. 

Barrington  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  small  doubt  that 
you  are  in  the  right,"  he  said,  "  but  leave  me  to  my  quiet 
life,  and,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  call  upon  me  to  quarrel 
with  my  kinsfolk  as  you  have  done.  Depend  upon  it,  my 
boy,  the  country  is  not  worth  it.  What  has  the  country, 


278 

after  all,  done  for  us  ?  I  for  one  am  not  made  of  the  stuff 
of  which  patriots  are  made.  Every  one  for  himself  and 
God  for  us  all.  That  is  my  motto." 

Joscelyn  reflected  that  this  life  of  ease  and  idleness  was 
precisely  the  one  which  not  a  year  ago  he  had  been  so  loath 
to  leave.  "  Yet  you  don't  know  what  you  miss  !"  he  said, 
realizing  how  dreadful  it  would  now  be  to  him  to  go  back 
to  the  old  life  of  passive  enjoyment  and  boyish  thoughtless- 
ness. 

Harrington  laughed  good-humoredly ;  and  often  in  after- 
days,  when  wayworn  and  hungry,  Joscelyn  would  recall  his 
sleek,  good-tempered,  lazy  face,  as  he  sat  enveloped  in  to- 
bacco smoke,  his  feet  on  the  window-seat,  and  his  comfort- 
able voice  reiterating  injunctions  to  come  and  tell  him  all 
his  adventures  when  the  struggle  was  over.  As  in  Raphael's 
"  Vision  of  a  Knight,"  Joscelyn  had  had  his  time  of  ease. 
Pleasure  had  lured  him  with  her  handful  of  flowers,  but  he 
had  turned  towards  the  less  enticing  figure  of  Duty,  had 
grasped  the  sword  she  offered  him,  had  vowed  to  defend 
the  Book,  and  now  could  only  marvel  that  the  other  life  had 
seemed  to  him  so  fair. 

The  next  day  he  rode  down  into  Buckinghamshire  with 
Hampden.  The  June  day  was  bright  and  sunny,  with  just 
enough  breeze  to  make  riding  pleasant;  it  reminded  them 
both  of  the  August  day  when  in  the  previous  year  they  had 
ridden  down  to  Hampden  House  before  the  Raising  of  the 
Standard. 

"  What  changes  since  then !"  said  Hampden,  with  a 
sigh. 

Joscelyn  looked  at  the  fortifications  which  had  been 
hastily  thrown  up  round  London  during  the  autumn,  think- 
ing that  he  referred  to  them ;  but  the  patriot's  thoughts 
were  with  his  dead  children,  and  with  many  a  comrade  lost 
in  battle.  He  spoke  very  sadly  of  the  death  of  his  friend, 


"  '  EVERY    ONE   FOR    HIMSELF    AND    GOD    FOR    US   ALL.'" 


[Page  27 


279 

Lord  Brook,  at  Lichfield,  giving  Joscelyn  details  which  he 
had  not  before  heard. 

"  We  need  fresh  men  to  fill  many  grievous  gaps  in  our 
ranks,"  he  said.  "  But,  above  all,  'tis  necessary  that  we 
have  men  of  truth  and  honor — men  whose  religion  lies  in 
the  consecration  of  the  will  to  God's  service.  We  have 
grievously  suffered  from  having  in  our  ranks  men  of  evil 
and  vicious  lives,  who  seek  self  through  this  strife,  and  are 
not  wholly  governed  by  zeal  for  the  cause." 

"  Men  like  Colonel  Hurry,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  who,  I  learn, 
hath  deserted,  and  is  now  at  Oxford  serving  under  Prince 
Rupert." 

"  We  are  well  quit  of  such  a  one,"  said  Hampden ;  "  yet 
he  is  capable  of  doing  us  much  mischief,  knowing  the  coun- 
try round  Oxford  very  thoroughly,  and  being  well  acquaint- 
ed with  all  our  ways.  'Tis  but  a  short  time  since  he  was  in 
command  of  some  of  my  Lord  Essex's  horse  in  more  than 
one  skirmish.  'Tis  not  such  as  Hurry  that  one  grudges  to 
the  other  side,  but  men  like  Hopton  and  Fuller  and  Falk- 
land, men  who  deceive  themselves  by  thinking  that  they  can 
cry  *  Peace !  peace !'  when  there  is  no  firm  basis  on  which 
peace  can  rest." 

"  Is  it  true,  sir,  that  my  Lord  Falkland  knew  of  Edmund 
Waller's  plot?" 

"  I  fear  'tis  too  true,"  said  Hampden.  "  He  doubtless 
persuades  himself  that  war  justified  even  that.  But  I  learn 
from  those  who  of  late  have  seen  him  that  he  hath  greatly 
altered,  falling  into  a  melancholy,  ill-yoked  with  those  un- 
worthy of  his  noble  and  tolerant  nature,  breaking  his  heart 
in  the  service  of  one  who  is  lacking  in  all  true  love  of  his 
country  or  understanding  of  the  people." 

Joscelyn  glanced  at  the  strong,  virile  face  of  the  speaker, 
and  caught  the  flash  of  his  eyes,  lovelit  with  that  passionate 
devotion  to  England  which  had  moulded  his  whole  life. 


280 

He  remembered  the  coldly  handsome  face,  the  exclusive  un- 
sympathetic manner,  of  another  rider,  and  for  a  moment  the 
quiet  country  road  seemed  to  change  into  the  crowded 
High  Street  of  Lincoln,  and  in  place  of  the  overarching 
trees  he  saw  in  imagination  the  Stonebow  and  the  Prison 
Lane  and  John  Drake's  mutilated  face.  Above  the  sound 
of  Hotspur's  hoofs  he  heard  that  awakening  cry  of  "  Justice  ! 
justice !"  which  had  touched  his  manhood  and  his  patriot- 
ism into  life. 

One  thing  he  realized  very  clearly — two  men  so  absolute- 
ly opposed  to  each  other  in  character  as  Hampden  and  the 
King  could  by  no  possibility  ever  come  to  an  understand- 
ing. 

"  And  yet,'*'  he  said,  when  at  mid-day  they  paused  to  rest 
and  dine  at  a  way-side  inn,  "  'tis  not  only  my  Lord  Falkland 
who  craves  for  peace.  No  one,  surely,  can  serve  in  the 
war  without  longing  for  the  time  when  one's  very  dreams 
will  not  be  blood-stained,  as  now  they  are." 

"  True,"  said  Hampden  ;  "  the  bravest  soldier  that  ever 
held  a  pen  has  well  expressed  the  same  craving.  Did  you 
ever  read  the  translation  of  Cervantes's  Don  Quixote  ?" 

Joscelyn  was  fain  to  confess  that  he  had  never  heard 
of  it. 

"  Well,  you  should  read  it  if  ever  time  for  reading  is 
yours  once  more.  I  recollect  being  much  struck  by  many 
chivalrous  and  noble  thoughts  in  the  book,  but  by  none 
more  than  by  a  passage  running  much  after  this  fashion  • 
'Arms  have  for  their  object  and  end  peace,  which  is  the 
greatest  good  that  men  can  desire  in  all  this  life.  And  thus 
the  first  good  news  that  the  world  had  was  that  which 
the  angel  gave  on  the  night  which  was  our  day,  when  they 
sang  in  the  heavens,  "  Glory  in  the  Highest,  and  Peace  on 
the  earth."  This  peace  is  the  true  end  of  war.' " 

The  words  kept  recurring  to  Joscelyn  all  through  the 


28l 


following  day,  which,  being  a  Sunday,  they  spent  quietly  at 
Hampden  House.  It  was  some  time  since  Hampden  had 
been  able  to  visit  his  home,  and  just  for  that  one  day  he 
seemed  to  put  back  from  him  all  cares  of  state  and  entirely 
to  give  himself  up  to  his  family,  not  allowing  even  his  sad 
memories  to  darken  the  happiness  of  their  reunion.  Again 
and  again,  in  the  sorrowful  time  that  followed,  Joscelyn 
would  live  in  imagination  through  that  strangely  peaceful 
day  which  was  to  them  all  such  a  priceless  possession.  The 
very  atmosphere  of  the  old  dining-hall  seemed  present  to 
him  as  he  recalled  their  gathering  in  the  morning — the  chil- 
dren flocking  to  greet  their  father,  the  servants  assembling 
for  family  prayers,  the  patriot's  clear  mellow  voice  reading 
in  quiet,  unaffected  fashion,  "  Let  not  your  heart  be  trou- 
bled ";  then  the  leisurely  breakfast,  the  genial  flow  of  talk, 
the  absence  of  that  sense  of  unrest  and  hurry  which  of  late 
had  become  customary  to  them  ;  and  by-and-by  the  service 
in  the  little  quiet  country  church,  at  which  the  newly  chosen 
rector,  Mr.  Robert  Lenthall,  son  of  the  Speaker,  officiated. 
The  discourse  was  upon  two  verses  of  one  of  the  psalms  for 
the  day :  "  Under  the  shadow  of  thy  wings  shall  be  my  ref- 
uge until  this  tyranny  is  overpast.  I  will  call  upon  the 
most  high  God ;  even  unto  the  God  that  shall  perform  the 
cause  which  I  have  in  hand."  When  the  sermon  was  over 
Hampden  lingered  in  the  church-yard  talking  to  one  and 
another  of  his  tenants.  To  them  he  was  not  so  much  the 
great  statesman  and  leader  as  the  personal  friend,  the 
squire  who  had  lived  among  them  all  his  life,  sharing  their 
joys  and  sorrows,  ever  ready  to  help  those  in  need,  not  by 
reckless  alms-giving,  but  by  care  and  thought  and  counsel, 
by  the  genuine  friendship  which  costs  more  than  a  mere 
dole.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  the  love  which  he  evoked 
among  those  sturdy  Buckinghamshire  folk — devotion  free 
from  all  cringing  or  servility,  honor  which  only  stimulated 


282 

their  self-respect.  Mr.  Lenthall  came  back  to  dine  with 
them,  and  later  on,  in  the  sweet  quiet  of  the  Sunday  after- 
noon, they  sat  in  the  quaint  old  pleasance,  at  the  side  of 
the  house  known  as  King  John's  Garden,  where  the  fount- 
ain plashed  gently  in  its  stone  basin  and  the  rose-bushes 
scented  the  air,  and  beyond,  in  the  park,  the  noble  trees 
lifted  their  fresh  June  foliage  up  to  the  soft  blue  of  a 
cloudless  sky. 

Even  old  Madam  Hampden,  the  patriot's  mother,  vent- 
ured forth,  and  paced  slowly  to  and  fro  on  the  velvety  turf, 
leaning  on  her  son's  arm.  All  through  her  long  widowhood 
he  had  been  her  sole  comfort  and  delight,  and  it  was  touch- 
ing to  watch  her  pride  in  him,  and  his  loving  reverence 
and  considerateness  for  her.  The  old  lady  had  quickly 
discovered  Joscelyn  Heyworth's  devotion  to  his  leader, 
and  leaving  the  Lady  Letitia  to  have  some  uninterrupt- 
ed talk  with  her  husband,  she  asked  the  young  guest  to 
help  her  back  to  the  house,  talking  to  him  very  kindly 
the  while,  first  of  his  own  affairs,  but  soon  falling  back 
to  the  subject  which  engrossed  her  thoughts,  her  dearly 
loved  son. 

"  I  remember,"  she  said,  as  they  paced  through  the  hall 
to  the  withdrawing-room — "  I  remember,  Captain  Heyworth, 
in  the  late  King's  reign,  being  ambitious  of  my  son's  honor, 
I  greatly  desired  a  peerage  for  him.  There  was  a  multitude 
of  lords  a-making — my  Lord  Dunbar,  my  Lord  Falkland, 
and  a  vast  number  of  new  creations — and  my  son  might 
easily  enough  have  had  a  title  ;  but  knowing  how  they  were 
obtained,  he  would  have  naught  to  do  with  seeking  one, 
but  utterly  declined  any  such  notion.  And  now  methinks 
he  chose  well  to  keep  to  the  name  handed  down  to  him 
from  Saxon  times  and  ever  connected  with  his  fair  estate. 
And  though  maybe  'tis  in  part  the  fondness  of  a  parent 
that  prompts  the  thought,  yet  I  do  think  that  the  name  of 


John  Hampden  is  one  which  will  ever  live  in  the  hearts  of 
the  people  of  England." 

At  supper,  perhaps  because  the  shadow  of  the  parting 
threatened  to  interfere  with  the  present  enjoyment,  Hamp- 
den's  conversation  was  even  more  animated  than  before. 
His  great  natural  cheerfulness — a  sort  of  bright  joyousness 
of  temperament  closely  akin  to  that  of  his  young  guest — 
made  them,  when  together,  like  flint  and  steel.  Spite  of 
all  the  past  sorrows,  all  the  future  cares,  the  hall  rang  with 
the  laughter  evoked  by  their  merry  talk,  and  the  children's 
happy  faces  and  the  momentary  laying  aside  of  anxiety  on 
the  part  of  his  wife  and  his  mother  filled  the  patriot's  heart 
with  pure  pleasure. 

All  too  soon  the  meal  was  ended,  and  the  old  butler 
came  to  tell  them  that  the  horses  were  awaiting  them  at 
the  door.  With  a  cheering  word  and  a  tender  individual 
farewell  to  each  member  of  his  family,  Hampden,  for  the 
last  time,  quitted  the  home  endeared  to  him  by  so  many 
associations,  and  mounting  his  horse,  rode  away  with  Jos- 
celyn  Heyworth  to  Thame,  where  Essex  had  lately  taken  up 
his  quarters. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

And  there  .  .  .  gave 

His  body  to  that  pleasant  country's  earth, 
And  his  pure  soul  unto  his  Captain  Christ, 
Under  whose  banner  he  had  fought  so  long. 

— KING  RICHARD  II.,  Act  4,  Scene  i. 

THE  days  that  followed  were  somewhat  checkered. 
Joscelyn  greatly  enjoyed  meeting  his  former  comrades  once 
more,  and  he  had  the  inestimable  privilege  of  being  almost 
constantly  with  Hampden,  but  it  was  trying  to  witness  the 
patriot's  depression  when,  despite  every  effort,  Essex  still 
remained  half-hearted,  timid,  and  supine.  Now  and  again 
the  soldiers  would  be  stirred  into  a  sort  of  enthusiasm  by 
his  presence,  and  would  cry,  "  Hey  for  old  Robin  !''  But  he 
seemed  incapable  of  promoting  any  great  enterprise,  and  was 
conspicuously  lacking  in  the  great  qualities  of  Hampden  and 
of  Sir  William  Waller.  The  men,  disheartened  by  the  sick- 
ness which  had  rapidly  thinned  their  ranks  since  the  siege 
of  Reading,  had  become  sullen  and  dispirited,  and  scarcely 
a  night  passed  but  they  could  descry  in  the  distance  the 
red  glow  in  the  sky  which  showed  that  Prince  Rupert  had 
attacked  and  set  fire  to  some  defenceless  place  or  beaten  up 
the  quarters  of  some  isolated  regiment,  putting  all  the  luck- 
less soldiers  to  the  sword.  Hampden  devoted  his  energies 
that  week  to  raising  the  drooping  spirits  of  the  army,  and  to 
visiting  many  of  the  outlying  villages,  and  sending  strong 
remonstrances  to  the  lord-general  on  the  scattered  and  help- 
less condition  of  the  pickets.  On  Friday,  the  i6th,  he  visit- 
ed, with  Joscelyn,  the  regiments  stationed  at  Postcombe  and 


285 

Chinnor,  and,  seeing  in  how  exposed  a  position  they  were 
left,  despatched  his  lieutenant  to  Essex,  imploring  him  to 
call  them  in,  as  well  as  those  troops  picketed  at  Wycombe. 
On  the  Saturday,  having  visited  Major  Gunter's  cavalry  at 
Tetsworth,  and  done  all  that  he  could  to  establish  a  line  of 
communication  between  the  principal  regiments,  he  return- 
ed towards  evening  to  Watlington,  where  he  had  arranged 
to  pass  the  night. 

"  We  shall  pass  through  Purton,"  he  said,  "  and  will  visit 
my  father-in-law,  Squire  Symeon ;  he  will  like  to  have  the 
latest  news  of  the  army." 

The  sunset  cast  a  mellow  glow  over  the  lovely  little  church ; 
and  Joscelyn,  who  had  ever  a  keen  eye  for  beautiful  coloring, 
gave  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  Ah,  Heyworth  !"  said  his  companion,  smiling,  "  they  will 
never  make  a  straitlaced  Puritan  of  you.  'Tis,  methinks, 
a  right  happy  thing  that  a  few  of  us  insist  on  paying  due 
reverence  to  whatsoever  things  are  lovely.  In  yonder  little 
church,  when  not  much  older  than  you,  I  was  wedded  to 
my  dear  wife,  now  in  heaven.  Let  us  dismount  and  take 
this  way  to  the  hall ,  'tis  not  every  day  that  you  will  have  a 
chance  of  seeing  so  fine  an  old  Norman  church  as  this  of 
Purton." 

Giving  the  horses  in  charge  of  an  attendant,  they  crossed 
the  church-yard,  and,  entering  by  the  beautiful  Norman  door- 
way, passed  into  the  dimly  lighted  church,  beneath  the  chan- 
cel arch  of  which,  long  years  before,  John  and  Elizabeth 
Symeon  had  plighted  their  vows.  Hampden  did  not  speak 
a  word,  but  stood  gazing  round  the  familiar  place  as  though 
lost  in  thought,  musing  perhaps  over  that  past  scene,  or 
dwelling  maybe  on  the  thought  which  had  comforted  him 
in  his  recent  sorrow,  that  his  beloved  son  and  daughter 
were  safe  and  at  rest  with  their  mother  in  the  "happy 
harbor  of  the  saints." 


286 

In  silence  he  turned  away  and  took  Joscelyn  through  a 
small  gate  with  a  curiously  contrived  latch,  of  which  he 
understood  the  secret.  Passing  through  it,  they  found 
themselves  in  the  grounds  of  Purton  Hall,  which  sloped 
steeply  down  to  a  pretty  piece  of  water,  beyond  which  rose 
the  gray  walls  of  a  picturesque  Elizabethan  house.  In  the 
porch  Squire  Symeon  waited  to  receive  them,  having  been 
told  of  their  visit  to  the  church.  He  pressed  them  to  sleep 
at  the  hall ;  but  Hampden,  who  had  business  at  Watlington, 
would  only  consent  to  sup  there,  though  promising,  if  pos- 
sible, to  return  on  the  following  day  and  spend  Sunday 
with  them.  The  sun  had  just  set  when  they  left  Purton, 
and,  riding  briskly  on  to  Watlington,  they  dismounted  at 
the  Hare  and  Hounds,  at  the  door  of  which  the  landlord, 
Robert  Parslow,  stood  talking  to  a  group  of  Parliamentary 
officers.  Colonel  Sheffield  stepped  forward  to  greet  Hamp- 
den. 

"  The  military  chest  of  which  you  spoke  has  been  safely 
deposited  in  your  room,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  and  if  it  were  pos- 
sible this  Saturday  night  to  give  the  soldiers  their  arrears 
of  pay  I  should  be  right  glad." 

Hampden  dismounted  and  went  into  the  inn,  followed  by 
Sheffield  and  Joscelyn.  The  latter  helped  to  remove  the 
patriot's  armor,  after  which  Hampden  searched  his  pockets 
for  the  key  of  the  chest. 

"  'Tis  strange  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  certainly  brought  it  with 
me  from  Thame.  Yet  'tis  assuredly  not  here.  Stay,  let  me 
think  !  Where  did  we  lie  last  night  ?  'Twas  at  Chinnor,  and 
I  thrust  the  key  in  my  pocket-case  under  the  bed-pillow.  I 
must  carelessly  have  left  it  there." 

"Let  me  ride  over,  sir,  and  search  for  it,"  said  Joscelyn. 
"  Hotspur  is  still  saddled  below." 

"  The  poor  beast  has  been  far  to-day  and  is  weary,"  said 
Hampden.  "  Yet  'tis  important  that  we  have  the  key.  I 


28; 

shall  be  greatly  beholden  to  you,  my  boy,  if  you  will  ride 
over  to  Chinnor.  But  do  not  attempt  to  return  till  morning, 
for  it  will  be  dark  by  the  time  you  get  there,  and  we  could 
do  naught  with-the  money  to-night.  Still,  'tis  important  that 
the  key  be  not  lost,  to  say  nothing  of  my  pocket-case,  which 
contains  sundry  notes  I  shall  need." 

Without  a  moment's  delay  Joscelyn  hurried  out  to  the 
stable-yard  and  rode  off  to  Chinnor.  A  faint  glow  of  light 
still  lingered  in  the  west,  and,  as  he  rode  along,  the  fragrance 
of  the  newly  mown  hay  made  him  think  of  that  summer 
afternoon  a  year  ago  at  Katterham  Court.  He  seemed  to 
see  Clemency's  sweet  sad  face  as  the  mowers'  song  floated 
through  the  open  casement,  and  she  had  wept  to  think  of 
the  changes  that  must  have  come  by  the  next  hay-harvest, 
and  of  the  war  and  bloodshed  that  must  lay  the  land  deso- 
late. An  intense  stillness  reigned  in  the  quiet  countryside. 
Never  had  the  Chiltern  Hills  looked  more  peaceful  than 
they  did  on  that  night;  and  Joscelyn,  who  knew  that  a 
wagon  containing  a  large  sum  of  money  for  the  army  was 
travelling  down  that  night  from  London  to  Thame,  con- 
gratulated himself  on  the  calmness  of  the  landscape.  Ar- 
rived at  Chinnor,  he  found  that  the  quarters  in  which  they 
had  slept  on  the  previous  night  were  already  occupied. 
But  the  key  and  pocket-case  had  been  found,  and  were  at 
once  handed  over  to  him.  Finding  that  not  a  bed  was  to 
be  had  in  the  village,  and  having  with  some  difficulty  sta- 
bled his  weary  horse,  he  wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak  and 
shifted  as  best  he  could  in  a  hay-loft  just  above  Hotspur's 
stall.  He  was  tired,  and  slept  for  some  hours.  Yet  it 
seemed  to  him  but  a  short  time  before  he  was  roused  by 
the  most  appalling  confusion.  Starting  up  from  his  bed  of 
hay,  he  listened  in  great  consternation.  The  whole  air 
seemed  full  of  terrible  sounds— shrieks  of  women,  groans 
of  men,  trampling  of  horses,  the  rattle  of  musketry,  and 


288 

now  and  again  a  shouted  watchword,   "  St.  George  !"  or 
"  Queen  Mary !" 

Springing  to  his  feet,  he  tore  aside  a  loose  piece  of  board- 
ing in  the  side  of  the  loft  and  gazed  out  upon  the  village 
street.  It  seemed  to  him  like  looking  into  hell.  Lurid 
flames  leaped  up  from  the  thatched  cottages,  half-clothed 
women  and  children  struggled  madly  to  escape,  while  the 
Parliament  soldiers  whom  Hampden  had  vainly  tried  only 
a  few  hours  before  to  save  were  remorselessly  butchered  by 
the  Cavaliers.  For  a  moment  Joscelyn  seemed  paralyzed. 
Then,  catching  sight  of  the  face  of  the  renegade  Hurry  rid- 
ing past  with  Prince  Rupert,  fury  seemed  to  restore  him  to 
life.  Dashing  down  the  ladder  into  the  stable  below,  he 
saddled  Hotspur  in  desperate  haste,  intent  only  on  warning 
Hampden  in  time,  on  preventing  a  similar  surprise  of  Wat- 
lington.  It  was  now  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning; 
the  sun  had  not  yet  appeared  above  the  hills,  but  a  vivid 
ruddy  glow  lighted  the  eastern  sky.  Joscelyn  cautiously 
opened  the  door  of  the  stable.  To  escape  by  the  street  was 
out  of  the  question,  and  he  thought  it  highly  probable  that 
even  the  backs  of  the  houses  would  be  guarded.  Even  as 
the  thought  crossed  his  mind  a  shot  fired  in  the  very  yard 
upon  which  the  stable  opened  proved  that  his  surmise  was 
correct ;  a  couple  of  Royalist  soldiers  lying  in  ambush  had 
fired  upon  a  little  group  of  fugitives  who  were  vainly  trying 
to  reach  the  fields  beyond.  Joscelyn,  raising  his  musket 
promptly,  took  aim  at  the  nearest  Cavalier  and  avenged 
the  slaughter  of  his  comrades.  Then  seeing  that  his  sole 
chance  of  life  lay  in  Hotspur's  swiftness,  he  urged  his  horse 
forward,  bounded  over  the  nearest  hedge,  and  amid  a 
shower  of  bullets  galloped  off  into  the  meadows,  with  great 
good-fortune  effecting  his  retreat  from  Chinnor.  Hotspur, 
mad  with  excitement,  galloped  bravely  on,  and,  after  carry- 
ing his  master  across  country  at  a  pace  which  would  not 


289 

have  disgraced  a  race-horse,  landed  him  safely  at  the  door 
of  the  Hare  and  Hounds  just  as  Colonel  Sheffield  came 
forth  booted  and  spurred,  ready  to  cheer  up  his  men,  who 
were  mustering  at  the  cross-roads  by  the  market-place. 

"  Colonel  Hampden  is  dressing,"  he  said.  "  We  had  news 
but  now  of  Prince  Rupert's  doings  at  Postcombe." 

Joscelyn  ran  up-stairs  to  see  if  he  could  help  his  leader, 
and  found  himself  just  in  time  to  fasten  his  armor  for  him. 

"  Thank  God,  you  are  safe,"  said  Hampden.  "  I  thought 
through  my  carelessness  you  had  ridden  to  your  death. 
What  of  Chinnor  ?" 

"  'Tis  in  flames,  sir,  and  many  of  our  poor  fellows  killed. 
Prmce  Rupert's  force  is  approaching  on  the  Icknield  way. 
The  firing  has  never  quite  ceased ;  he  must  be  skirmishing 
as  he  goes." 

"  We  must  endeavor  to  keep  them  so  skirmishing  till  the 
troops  come  from  Thame,"  said  Hampden.  "  If  we  can 
but  bring  them  to  action  this  side  of  Chiselhampton  Bridge, 
to-day  may  be  a  turning-point  in  the  war." 

"But,  sir,"  urged  Joscelyn,  "your  brigade  is  not  here; 
why  hazard  a  life  so  precious  to  the  country  when  there  is 
no  call  for  you  to  go  forth  ?" 

Hampden  only  smiled  at  his  eagerness.  "  You  practise 
not  what  you  preach  my  son,"  he  said,  in  his  kindly  voice. 
"  Did  you  pause  to  think  of  the  hazard  when  you  rode  alone 
through  many  perils  to  bring  us  the  news  from  Chinnor  ?" 

"  'Tis  different,"  cried  Joscelyn  ;  "  the  country  could  well 
enough  spare  me;  but  you  —  the  leader  to  whom  we  all 
look — oh,  sir !  do  not  go  forth  !" 

But  even  as  he  spoke  the  words  he  knew  they  would  be 
useless  •,  he  might  just  as  well  have  begged  a  mother  to  for- 
sake a  helpless  babe,  or  a  captain  to  desert  a  ship  in  peril. 

Hampden  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  For  what  has  God  permitted  us  to  be  here  to-day,"  he 
19 


290 

said,  "but  to  volunteer  in  this  conflict?  And  what  matter 
how  long  or  in  what  fashion  we  serve  the  country  so  that 
we  serve  it  faithfully  ?" 

After  that  there  was  no  more  to  be  said.  They  hurriedly 
passed  through  the  suite  of  rooms  and  down  the  steep  stairs 
to  the  court-yard,  where  Colonel  Sheffield  and  several  of  the 
other  officers  repeated  the  same  remonstrance  to  Hampden, 
to  just  as  little  purpose.  He  insisted  on  volunteering  in 
that  day's  service,  nor  could  they  regret  it  when  they  saw 
how  his  presence  inspired  the  soldiers.  Passing  through 
Watlington,  the  two  troops  of  horse  commanded  by  Shef- 
field and  Cross,  with  which  Hampden  and  Joscelyn  had 
volunteered,  rode  on  in  the  direction  of  Chalgrove,  a  large 
unenclosed  plain,  where  it  was  deemed  probable  that  Prince 
Rupert  might  be  brought  to  bay.  It  was  now  about  eight 
in  the  morning,  much  such  a  Sunday  as  they  had  enjoyed 
the  previous  week,  clear  and  still,  with  a  cloudless  sky,  and 
Joscelyn  could  not  but  notice  the  curious  contrast  between 
the  peaceful  green  meadows  with  their  winding  brook,  the 
curves  of  which  were  outlined  by  pollard  willows,  and  the 
warlike  sounds  ever  growing  louder  and  nearer  as  they  ad- 
vanced. 

And  now  the  field  of  Chalgrove  was  in  sight,  and  over  the 
great  expanse  of  standing  corn  waving  gently  in  the  June 
breeze  they  could  descry  Prince  Rupert's  army,  its  left  wing 
hotly  engaged  against  those  gallant  dragoons,  commanded 
by  Colonel  Gunter,  which  but  yesterday  Joscelyn  had  seen 
at  Tetsworth.  He  heard  his  leader  give  a  sudden  ejacula- 
tion of  sorrow. 

"  Colonel  Gunter  has  fallen  !"  he  said.  Then,  seeing  that 
the  dragoons  were  giving  way,  the  new-comers  hastened  to 
rally  them,  and  Hampden  and  Sheffield  urged  the  men  for- 
ward, Hampden  putting  himself  at  the  head  of  the  attack, 
and  so  stimulating  the  soldiers  by  the  magic  of  his  presence 


291 

that  by  the  confession  of  their  enemies  they  fought  that  day 
as  they  had  never  fought  before. 

"  The  main  body  from  Thame  must  shortly  be  here,"  said 
Hampden,  as  they  charged  the  enemy.  Joscelyn  was  be- 
side his  leader  in  the  front  rank.  As  the  words  were  ut- 
tered he  just  glanced  at  him,  and  so  contagious  was  Hamp- 
den's  enthusiasm  that  at  the  moment  all  things  seemed 
possible,  even  that  the  dilatory  Essex  might  for  once  be  in 
time.  The  Cavaliers  vastly  outnumbered  them,  but  they 
were  worn  and  weary  with  their  night's  work,  and  could 
surely  be  held  in  check  till  Essex  came.  These  thoughts 
flashed  through  Joscelyn's  mind  as  the  green  ears  of  corn 
bowed  beneath  the  feet  of  the  galloping  horses ;  and  from 
the  troops  drawn  up  beneath  the  hedge  towards  which  they 
charged  there  poured  forth  a  deadly  fire.  He  was  dimly 
aware  that  their  ranks  were  grievously  thinned.  Still  they 
pressed  on. 

Suddenly  he  glanced  towards  his  left,  perceiving  that 
Hampden's  arm  had  fallen  powerless  to  his  side.  Almost 
at  the  same  moment  the  trooper  on  his  right  dropped  down 
dead,  and  his  maddened  horse  plunging  against  Hotspur  so 
terrified  the  poor  beast  that  he  reared  violently,  and  his 
master,  thrown  off  his  guard  and  thinking  only  of  his 
wounded  leader,  was  thrown  to  the  ground,  where  for  some 
time  he  lay  stunned. 

When  he  came  to  himself  the  skirmish  was  over ;  dizzy 
and  confused  by  his  fall  and  the  kicks  he  had  received 
while  lying  on  the  field,  he  could  at  first  recollect  nothing, 
but  lay  staring  at  the  trampled  corn  and  at  a  sycamore-tree 
clearly  outlined  against  the  blue  sky.  Moving  a  little,  he 
saw  that  the  ground  behind  him  was  soaked  with  blood.  This 
roused  him,  and  starting  up,  he  found  that  he  was  the  one 
living  man  among  a  heap  of  dead  soldiers,  and  suddenly 
recollecting  that  he  had  seen  Hampden  wounded,  he  began 


with  sickening  anxiety  to  search  for  him  among  the  slain. 
Not  rinding  him  in  that  part  of  the  field,  he  became 
hopeful  that  his  hurt  had  not  been  serious,  and  still  feeling 
shaken  and  sick,  he  made  his  way  over  the  trampled  and 
blood-stained  corn  and  past  the  bodies  of  dead  men  and 
horses,  longing  to  find  some  one  to  tell  him  all  that  had 
passed.  Presently  he  came  upon  a  few  of  Gunter's  dra- 
goons, who,  having  found  their  master's  dead  body,  were 
bearing  it  away  with  sorrowful  faces,  for  he  was  an  officer 
universally  loved  and  esteemed. 

"  Have  you  seen  Colonel  Hampden  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"Aye, sir,"  said  one  of  the  men  ;  "I  saw  him  quit  the  field 
before  the  action  was  finished;  his  head  was  hanging  down, 
and  his  arms  leaning  on  his  horse's  neck." 

"Then  indeed  he  must  be  sorely  wounded!"  cried  Jos- 
celyn. "  Which  way  did  he  ride  ?" 

"Towards  Purton,  sir,-  yet  methinks  he  could  not  have 
passed  that  way,  or  he  would  have  fallen  in  with  some 
of  Prince  Rupert's  men.  Belike  he  will  ride  back  to 
Thame." 

"  What  of  the  enemy  ?"  asked  Joscelyn  ;  "  did  they  pur- 
sue our  troops  ?" 

"  Nay,  sir,  but  went  on  their  way  to  Oxford  as  soon  as 
they  saw  the  main  body  coming  in  the  distance.  They 
have  many  prisoners  with  them,  and  among  others  Colonel 
Sheffield,  who  was  taken  grievously  wounded." 

Joscelyn  waited  no  longer,  for  it  was  plain  he  would  only 
hear  of  further  disasters ;  moreover,  he  happened  to  catch 
sight  in  the  distance  of  Hotspur  peacefully  grazing  beside 
a  hedge,  just  as  if  no  terrible  misfortune  had  happened. 
Hastily  mounting,  he  turned  to  a  countryman,  who  was 
coming  to  see  if  he  could  help  the  wounded. 

"  You  know  these  parts  better  than  I  do,"  said  Joscelyn. 
"  Which  is  the  shortest  way  across  country  to  Thame  ?" 


"SEEMED  HARDLY  ABLE  TO  KEEP  IN  THE  SADDLE." 

[Page  293. 


293 

The  man  indicated  the  direction.  "  Make  for  Tetsworth, 
sir,"  he  said,  "  and  there  you'll  be  on  the  road  to  Thame. 
Ride  straight  across  from  here  by  the  way  of  Hazeley 
Brook." 

A  word  to  the  chestnut  seemed  to  make  him  understand 
his  master's  desire,  for  he  galloped  on  at  the  same  desperate 
pace  he  had  gone  that  morning  from  Chinnor  to  Watling- 
ton.  Crossing  Hazeley  Brook,  and  seeing  the  little  village 
of  Tetsworth  close  at  hand,  Joscelyn's  heart  leaped  into  his 
throat  as  he  perceived  riding  slowly  on  in  advance  of  him  a 
solitary  horseman.  The  sun  shone  on  his  steel  corselet  and 
on  his  flowing  hair ;  he  had  removed  his  heavy  helmet,  and 
seemed  hardly  able  to  kefep  in  the  saddle,  so  grievously  was 
he  wounded.  In  a  few  minutes  Joscelyn  was  beside  him,  and 
the  wounded  patriot,  too  faint  to  recognize  him,  yet  found 
breath  for  one  question. 

"  What  of  the  day,  sir  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  lost,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  My  lord  Essex  was  too 
late.  Prince  Rupert  is  on  his  way  back  to  Oxford  with 
many  prisoners." 

Hampden  sighed  heavily,  but  did  not  speak ;  his  head 
was  bent  a  little  lower ;  his  hands  leaned  more  heavily  on 
his  horse's  neck. 

"Ah,  sir,"  cried  Joscelyn,  "how  did  you  ever  cross  the 
brook  ?  Do  not  go  farther,  but  rest  here,  and  let  me  fetch 
help  from  Tetsworth." 

"  Why,  boy,  is  it  you  ?"  cried  Hampden,  his  face  lighting 
up.  "  I  saw  you  fall  in  the  first  charge,  and  gave  you  up 
for  lost." 

"  I  was  but  stunned  and  trampled  on,  sir,  not  wounded. 
But  you  ?  You  are  grievously  hurt." 

"Aye,  I  have  got  my  death- wound,"  said  Hampden. 
"  Yet  I  will  ride  back  to  Thame ;  this  faintness  came  not 
on  till  I  leaped  the  brook,  and  that — why  'twas,  as  one  may 


say,  Hobson's  choice,  for  had  I  dismounted  to  lead  the 
horse  over  I  could  never  have  mounted  him  again." 

Endless  seemed  that  last  ride,  yet  Hampden,  though  suf- 
fering tortures,  spoke  a  few  words  from  time  to  time. 

"  More  than  once  in  my  old  hunting  days,"  he  said, 
"  have  I  known  men  as  sorely  hurt  as  I  am  now.  Shall 
one  grudge  for  one's  country  what  men  do  not  grudge  for 
a  pastime  ?" 

At  last  they  came  into  sight  of  Thame,  and  could  hear 
the  church-bells  ringing  for  service. 

Hampden  smiled  faintly. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  they  ring  us  into  the  town,  though 
we  are  not  victors,  but  vanquished." 

And  so  he  rode  on  over  the  rough  highway,  each  mo- 
ment of  endurance  an  act  of  heroism.  As  they  advanced 
into  the  place,  with  its  picturesque  thatched  houses,  Hamp- 
den looked  lingeringly  round  in  the  manner  of  one  who 
casts  a  farewell  glance  on  scenes  once  familiar  and  dear. 
And  when  they  passed  the  pretty  old  grammar-school,  with 
its  mullioned  windows  and  quaint  gables,  he  drew  his  com- 
panion's attention  to  it. 

"  Over  yonder,"  he  said,  "  I  spent  my  school-days.  I 
had  as  lief  die  in  that  old  house  as  anywhere  else.  But 
maybe  we  had  better  ride  on  to  our  quarters  near  the  mar- 
ket-place. 'Twill  give  less  trouble  to  other  folk." 

So  they  passed  on  down  the  broad  High  Street,  and, 
amid  a  crowd  of  sorrow-stricken  people,  dismounted  at  the 
house  where  Hampden  had  slept  but  a  few  nights  before. 
Half  fainting,  he  was  helped  from  his  horse  and  taken  into 
a  room  on  the  ground-floor,  for  to  go  a  step  farther  than 
was  necessary  was  now  impossible. 

At  first  the  surgeons  did  not  despair,  and  Joscelyn,  ever 
ready  to  hope  and  slow  to  take  the  gloomiest  view,  buoyed 
himself  up  with  their  words,  and  from  his  very  cheerfulness 


295 

became  a  power  in  the  sick-room.  But  Hampden  knew 
that  his  days  were  numbered,  and  quietly  and  patiently 
prepared  to  leave  his  work  in  other  hands. 

Struck  in  the  shoulder  by  two  carbine-balls,  which  had 
not  only  broken  the  bone  but  had  entered  his  body,  he 
knew  that  no  surgeon,  however  skilful,  could  save  him, 
and  now  his  sole  effort  was  to  keep  his  mind  clear  that  he 
might  to  the  last  serve  his  country.  Though  suffering  tort- 
ures, he  insisted  on  dictating  letters  of  counsel  to  the  Par- 
liament, and  last  words  to  some  of  his  kinsfolk  and  friends, 
and  Joscelyn,  to  whose  lot  it  usually  fell  to  write  for  him, 
marvelled  at  his  perfect  self-forgetfulness. 

On  the  Thursday  there  were  times  when  he  suffered  so 
terribly  that  he  could  do  nothing  but  lie,  in  that  pathetic 
heroism  of  silent  endurance  which  to  the  watchers  seemed 
more  moving  than  cries  or  groans.  Once  in  a  quiet  inter- 
val he  looked  up  at  Joscelyn,  whose  hand  he  had  griped 
fast  in  his  agony. 

"Boy,"  he  said,  faintly,  "methinks  I  had  somewhat  to 
do  in  leading  you  into  this  strife.  I  trust  you  may  never 
regret  it." 

"  Nay,  sir,  I  must  ever  bless  you  for  your  guiding,"  said 
Joscelyn,  with  a  look  so  full  of  affection  and  confidence 
that  it  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  more  than  one  present. 

"  I  pray  God  you  may  never  know  such  pain,"  said 
Hampden,  wearily. 

This  was  practically  the  only  allusion  he  ever  made  to 
his  cruel  sufferings  save  in  response  to  direct  questions. 
As  it  had  been  all  through  his  life,  so  in  these  last  days  he 
showed  most  markedly  the  power  of  self-effacement — that 
utter  merging  of  self  into  the  thought  of  the  country's  need 
which  was  his  strongest  characteristic.  All  the  cheerful 
courtesy,  too,  which  had  distinguished  him  shown  out  now 
in  little  gracious  habits  of  speech  to  those  who  waited  on 


296 

him,  while  his  tenderness  for  his  children  and  for  the  wife 
so  recently  married  was  manifested  in  countless  ways. 

After  the  long  agony  of  that  Thursday,  Joscelyn  began  to 
realize  that  the  end  was  near.  The  Lady  Letitia,  worn 
with  watching,  was  prevailed  upon  to  rest,  and  he  was  al- 
lowed to  keep  watch  with  one  of  the  surgeons  in  the  sick- 
room through  the  night  hours  in  company  with  Arthur 
Goodwin,  Hampden's  closest  friend  and  colleague  in  Par- 
liament. 

The  dying  patriot  had  some  intervals  of  broken  sleep,  in 
which  they  often  heard  him  praying  most  fervently  for  the 
country,  for  the  Parliament,  for  his  children,  and  many 
times  that  the  King  might  be  delivered  from  his  evil  ad- 
visers. When  the  next  day  dawned  he  looked  towards 
Joscelyn. 

"  Will  you  and  Hotspur  take  one  more  ride  for  me  ?"  he 
said.  "  It  was  arranged  that  my  mother  should  come  in 
the  coach  from  home  this  day.  I  should  be  grateful  if  you 
would  ask  the  rector  to  come  also,  and  let  him  bring  the 
chalice  with  him,  for  I  would  fain  receive  the  sacrament  for 
the  last  time." 

Returning  from  this  duty  about  noon  on  the  23d,  Joscelyn 
found  his  leader  much  weaker,  but  in  less  pain.  Indeed, 
throughout  the  afternoon  Hampden  was  in  such  compara- 
tive ease  that  he  was  able  to  have  long  interviews  with  his 
mother  and  with  his  wife  and  children.  Joscelyn,  for  the 
most  part,  was  in  the  outer  room,  desperately  holding  his 
sorrow  at  arm's-length,  lest  it  should  overwhelm  him,  rest- 
lessly going  on  errands  which  any  of  the  servants  would 
have  undertaken,  talking  with  Sir  Robert  Pye,  who  had 
that  day  come  down  with  his  wife  from  London,  or  listen- 
ing to  the  conversation  between  Dr.  Spurstow,  the  chaplain 
of  Hampden's  regiment,  and  Mr.  Robert  Lenthall,  the  new 
rector  of  Great  Hampden.  Late  in  the  evening  the  Lady 


297 

Letitia  opened  the  door  of  the  sick-room  and  beckoned  to 
him. 

"Captain  Heyworth,"  she  said,  "my  husband  would 
greatly  like  you  to  be  present  with  us ;  and  will  you  tell 
the  rector  that  the  service  had  best  take  place  at  once  ?" 

Her  wonderful  self-command  amazed  Joscelyn,  who, 
thinking  of  her  brief  happiness  and  of  her  devotion  to  her 
husband,  lost  sight  for  the  time  of  his  own  sorrow.  Yet,  after 
all,  was  it  not  almost  enough  joy  to  fall  to  the  lot  of  any 
mortal  to  have  inspired  in  the  heart  of  a  man  like  Hamp- 
den  such  love  and  trust  that  on  his  death-bed  all  anxiety 
for  his  orphaned  children  could  be  laid  aside,  so  well-assured 
was  he  that  she  would  treat  them  precisely  as  though  they 
were  her  own  ? 

The  room  was  somewhat  dimly  lighted,  and  as  they  en- 
tered Joscelyn  heard  Hampden's  voice,  and  noticed  how 
much  weaker  it  had  grown.  "  Let  him  stay,"  he  was  saying. 
"  The  child  wishes  it,  and  methinks  thou  art  old  enough  to 
understand,  Dick." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  little  Richard,  whose  fair  head  nestled 
close  to  his  father's.  The  contrast  between  the  rosy- 
cheeked  boy  and  the  haggard,  sunken  features  of  the  dy- 
ing man  was  very  strange,  and  was  all  the  more  marked 
because  the  childish  face  was  so  full  of  sorrow,  so  clouded 
by  misery,  while  the  father's  face  seemed  already  to  have 
gained  something  of  that  peace,  "the  true  end  of  war," 
about  which  he  had  spoken  as  they  rode  from  London. 
There  were  present,  besides  the  rector,  Dr.  Spurstow,  old 
Madam  Hampden,  the  Lady  Letitia,  little  Richard — Hamp- 
den's eldest  surviving  son — his  daughter  Anne,  Sir  Robert 
Pye,  and  Arthur  Goodwin.  At  first  Joscelyn  could  only 
feel  like  one  in  a  terrible  dream.  His  eyes  wandered  from 
one  to  another  in  the  sorrowful  group,  and  he  saw  with  a 
sort  of  dull  pang  how  the  flickering  candlelight  glanced  on 


298 

the  bright  steel  armor  leaning  now  against  the  dark  wain- 
scot, and  never  again  to  be  worn  by  Hampden.  Collect 
and  epistle  had  fallen  unheeded  upon  his  ear ;  only  the 
last  words  of  the  brief  gospel  arrested  him — "but  is  passed 
from  death  into  life."  Then  once  more  he  looked  towards 
the  dying  man,  and  something  in  the  simplicity  of  his  quiet 
and  unaffected  devotion  raised  him  into  another  atmos- 
phere, and  within  his  troubled  heart  life  and  strength  faced 
death  and  sorrow  and  triumphed. 

Afterwards,  having  embraced  little  Richard,  Hampden 
motioned  to  Joscelyn  to  draw  nearer  and  receive  his  last 
farewell. 

"God  bless  you,"  he  said,  faintly.  "Be  a  friend  to  my 
boy.  I  pray  that  you  and  Clemency  may  long  be  spared 
to  serve  the  good  cause." 

For  the  last  time  Joscelyn  looked  into  those  deep,  ear- 
nest eyes.  Then  he  put  his  arm  round  the  sobbing  child, 
and,  at  old  Madam  Hampden's  suggestion,  led  him  out  of 
the  room,  and  only  left  him  when,  worn  out  with  sorrow, 
Richard  fell  asleep  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms.  As  he 
came  down  -  stairs  once  more  he  met  Arthur  Goodwin  in 
the  passage.  The  tears  were  raining  down  the  strong 
man's  face,  but  he  struggled  hard  for  composure. 

"  I  think  he  will  not  speak  again,"  he  said  in  a  broken 
voice.  "  He  is  now  as  it  were  in  a  sleep.  Yet  if  there 
should  be  a  return  to  consciousness  I  pray  you  to  let  me 
know." 

Joscelyn  promised  to  do  so ;  but  the  long  hours  of  the 
night  wore  on,  and  only  an  ominous  stillness  reigned  in  the 
sick-room.  At  last,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  of 
the  24th,  a  sound  of  galloping  feet  was  heard  in  the  High 
Street.  Joscelyn,  who  was  in  the  outer  room  with  Dr. 
Spurstow,  the  chaplain,  went  to  the  window  to  see  what 
visitor  came  at  this  early  hour. 


299 

"  'Tis  Dr.  Giles,  of  Chinnor,  an  old  friend  of  Colonel 
Hampden's,"  said  Dr.  Spurstow.  "  He  comes  too  late." 

They  went  to  the  door  to  receive  the  traveller — a  burly, 
pleasant-looking  country  parson. 

"  I  bear  a  message  of  inquiry  from  the  King,"  he  said. 
"  His  Majesty  bade  me  offer  his  surgeon  to  Mr.  Hamp- 
den." 

"The  offer  comes  too  late,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  Aye,"  said  Dr.  Spurstow ;  "  he  lies  at  the  point  of  death." 

The  visitor  was  much  overcome,  but  asked  to  see  Hamp- 
den  ;  and  Joscelyn,  having  borne  the  news  of  his  arrival  to 
the  Lady  Letitia,  ushered  him  into  the  sick-room.  Dr. 
Giles,  giving  hurried  greetings  to  the  watchers,  bent  over 
his  old  friend,  and  tried  to  rouse  him  by  repeating  the 
King's  words.  But  it  was  too  late.  The  sound  of  the 
voice  disturbed  the  dying  patriot  a  little;  a  tremor  ran 
through  his  powerful  frame ;  his  pale  lips  moved  as  though 
forming  words,  which  yet  were  never  uttered.  Had  he  per- 
chance heard  the  message,  and  with  a  last  effort  of  his  ha- 
bitual courtesy  did  he  try  to  return  his  thanks  ?  Or  did  his 
lips  move  in  one  of  those  pathetic  and  oft-repeated  cries  to 
God  to  save  England  from  those  who  threatened  her  an- 
cient liberties  ?  No  one  would  ever  know.  For  the  fare- 
well he  had  spoken  to  Arthur  Goodwin  proved  to  be  his 
last  utterance  in  this  world. 

A  few  minutes  later,  sleeping  as  calmly  as  a  tired  child, 
John  Hampden  "  passed  out  of  death  into  life." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

The  spirit  of  bitterness  may  wind  itself  into  our  souls,  even  while 
we  are  making  the  loudest  professions  of  charity. — DEAN  PLUMPTRE. 

STUNNED  and  dazed,  not  as  yet  feeling  very  acutely,  Jos- 
celyn  passed  from  the  death-bed  of  his  leader  and  friend 
into  the  High  Street,  where  but  few  people  were  stirring. 
He  went  straight  to  Arthur  Goodwin's  quarters  to  bear  him 
the  news,  only  pausing  once  when  a  great  brawny-armed 
smith,  catching  sight  of  him,  flung  down  his  hammer  on  the 
anvil  and  ran  out  from  his  forge  with  an  eager  question  : 

"  What  news  of  Colonel  Hampden  ?" 

"  All  is  over,"  said  Joscelyn,  in  a  numb  voice.  But  even 
as  he  uttered  the  words  he  felt  how  false  they  were,  and 
watching  the  blacksmith's  passionate  outburst  of  grief,  he 
realized  that  Hampden's  work  on  this  earth  was  not  over — 
was,  in  truth,  only  just  beginning,  and  that  from  generation 
to  generation  his  name  would  serve  as  an  inspiration  and 
example  to  all  who  sought  righteousness,  freedom,  and 
progress. 

There  was  no  need  to  speak  the  actual  news  to  Colonel 
Goodwin  ;  he  saw  it  written  plainly  enough  in  the  young 
officer's  face ;  and  touched  by  sorrow  so  deep  and  genu- 
ine, he  put  his  arm  within  Joscelyn's,  and  walked  back  with 
him  to  see  if  he  could  help  Sir  Robert  Pye  in  making  the 
necessary  arrangements  for  the  funeral. 

"  Every  honest  man  hath  a  share  in  this  loss,  and  there- 
fore will  likewise  share  in  our  sorrow,"  he  said.  "And 
truly  God  takes  away  the  best  among  us.  Take  it  all,  I 


3QI 

think  he  was  not  to  any  man  living  second.  Did  he  speak 
again  ?" 

"  Nay,  sir.  I  believe  his  last  conversation  was  with  you. 
Just  at  the  last  Dr.  Giles  tried  to  rouse  him  from  the  sleep 
in  which  for  six  hours  he  had  lain.  The  King  had  sent  to 
offer  his  surgeon  from  Oxford.  But  like  the  troops  at 
Chalgrove,  the  help  came  too  late." 

"  The  King  sent,  say  you  ?  What  does  that  bode,  I  won- 
der ?"  said  Goodwin.  "  Only  at  the  beginning  of  this  month 
his  Majesty  was  taking  part  in  a  plot  by  which  Pym  and 
Hampden  were  to  be  treacherously  seized  in  their  beds. 
Having  failed  in  that,  did  he  think  to  conciliate  the  most 
powerful  man  of  the  day  ?  If  so,  it  shows  how  little  he  un- 
derstood the  character  of  our  dead  leader." 

"  May  not  his  Majesty  have  sent  the  message  out  of  pure 
humanity  ?"  said  Joscelyn. 

Arthur  Goodwin  was  silent.  Personally  he  had  small 
reason  to  believe  in  the  King's  kind-heartedness,  being  one 
of  the  two  who  were  specially  excepted  by  Charles  in  the 
general  pardon  he  offered  to  the  County  of  Buckingham ; 
but  he  would  not  urge  anything  against  the  more  generous 
thought  of  his  young  companion ;  and,  indeed,  at  that  mo- 
ment they  reached  the  house  and  encountered  Sir  Robert 
Pye. 

It  was  deemed  best  that  the  funeral  should  take  place  on 
the  next  day.  It  was  a  Sunday,  and  in  time  of  war  there 
was  no  possibility  of  observing  the  usual  tedious  formali- 
ties. Moreover,  the  family  were  already  in  deep  mourn- 
ing for  Mrs.  Knightley.  When  these  details  had  been  set- 
tled, Joscelyn  was  despatched  to  Hampden  House  with  a 
message ;  and,  in  fact,  the  whole  of  that  day  he  was  so 
continuously  employed  that  he  was  able  in  part  to  hold  in 
check  the  sorrow  which  he  yet  all  the  time  knew  would 
sooner  or  later  overwhelm  him. 


302 

The  25th  of  June,  unlike  the  previous  Sunday,  when  they 
had  fought  under  a  cloudless  sky  at  Chalgrove,  was  sultry 
and  oppressive.  A  sort  of  blight  seemed  to  hang  over  the 
place ;  not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring ;  and  in  the  distance 
from  time  to  time  could  be  heard  prolonged  rumbling  thun- 
der, as  though  away  among  the  Chilterns  some  battle  raged. 

Joscelyn,  whose  rest  during  the  past  week  had  been  of 
the  briefest,  slept  late  that  morning,  and  was  only  roused 
by  the  tolling  of  the  great  bell  in  the  tower  of  the  church. 
Hastily  dressing,  he  went  down  to  the  death-chamber  to  see 
if  in  any  way  he  could  be  of  service. 

There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do. 

All  the  preparations  were  complete ;  the  hastily  made 
and  unpretentious  coffin  was  closed,  the  blue  banner  of  the 
Parliament  had  been  thrown  across  it,  and  upon  the  lid  had 
been  placed  the  patriot's  sword  and  helmet. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  with  bent  head  in  that  awful, 
silent  blankness  ;  then  beginning  faintly  to  realize  the  irrep- 
arable loss  their  cause  had  sustained,  he  turned  away  with 
heaving  breast  and  dim  eyes,  unable  to  endure  the  oppres- 
sion of  his  surroundings.  At  the  back  of  the  house  a  long 
strip  of  garden-ground  led  down  to  the  meadows.  Here  he 
paced  to  and  fro,  struggling  to  bear  up  under  that  crushing 
load  of  sorrow,  under  that  great  national  loss,  which  be- 
came more  appalling  as  it  was  more  fully  understood.  All 
the  customary  platitudes  of  comfort  were  powerless  to  touch 
his  heart  now;  he  could  only  think  of  the  great  statesman 
cut  off  in  his  prime,  of  that  mighty  influence  for  good  re- 
moved from  Parliament,  of  the  gallant  leader — whom  so 
many  had  longed  to  see  at  the  head  of  the  army — betrayed 
to  his  death  by  a  mercenary  time-server  like  Hurry. 

As  he  paced  beside  the  homely  fruit-trees  and  currant- 
bushes,  and  passed  the  strawberry-beds  whose  heavy  fra- 
grance rilled  the  air,  the  solemn  tolling  of  the  great  bell  in 


"HE   STOOD   FOR   A   MOMENT   WITH   BENT   HEAD." 


[Page  302. 


3Q3 

Thame  tower  ceased,  and  the  bells  began  to  ring  a  muffled 
peal.  Then  he  knew  that  he  must  return  to  the  house,  and, 
joining  the  other  mourners,  he  took  his  place  in  the  long, 
sad  procession  which  followed  the  body  of  John  Hampden 
to  the  grave.  Borne  by  his  brave  greencoats  down  the  broad 
street  of  Thame,  along  the  country  road  he  had  so  often 
traversed  in  life,  amid  the  tears  of  all  beholders  that  sim- 
ple, pathetic  funeral  train  passed  on.  When  they  reached 
Hampden  House  the  soldiers  bore  the  coffin  through  the 
old  banqueting-hall  to  the  brick  parlor  where  Hampden  had 
in  past  times  so  often  toiled,  and  where  years  before  he 
had  been  summoned  for  his  refusal  to  pay  the  ship-money. 
Here,  while  the  soldiers  dined  in  the  hall,  the  women  of  the 
family  gathered  to  take  in  private  their  last  silent  farewell 
of  the  dead.  Joscelyn,  being  presently  summoned  to  speak 
with  old  Madam  Hampden,  found  them  still  weeping  round 
the  coffin ;  and  Hampden's  mother,  seeing  how  greatly  he 
was  moved,  drew  him  a  little  aside,  and,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  spoke  to  him  with  almost  motherly  tenderness. 

"  I  know  how  well  you  loved  him,"  she  said,  "  and  how 
great  an  affection  he  had  for  you.  They  tell  me  you  must 
leave  for  London  this  very  day.  Is  that  indeed  the  case  ?" 

"  My  leave  has  nearly  expired,  madam,"  explained  Josce- 
lyn, "  and  as  it  is  necessary  that  I  see  Sir  Robert  Neal  on 
my  way  to  the  west,  I  must  not  delay  any  longer." 

"  They  told  me  you  would  probably  lie  at  Katterham  for 
a  night,"  said  Madam  Hampden,  "and  I  thought  you 
would  kindly  bear  this  little  token  to  Sir  Robert.  'Tis  a 
small  volume  of  Plato  which  my  dear  son  valued  and  con- 
stantly read.  Here,  too,  is  one  of  his  seals  for  your  prom- 
ised wife ;  they  tell  me  ladies  now  set  great  store  by  seals, 
and  I  know  Clemency  will  like  some  remembrance  of  him. 
And  as  for  you,  Captain  Heyworth,  you  who  have  been  so 
great  a  comfort  to  us  all  through  this  sad  week,  if  you  care 


to  have  it,  I  should  like  to  give  you  the  Bible  he  carried 
through  this  campaign." 

It  was  a  tiny  volume  with  gilt  edges,  one  of  those  "  pocket 
Bibles  "  which  excited  the  special  derision  of  the  Cavaliers, 
and  which,  only  lately  issued,  were  used  by  vast  numbers  of 
the  Parliamentary  officers. 

As  Joscelyn  took  it  with  warm  and  grateful  thanks  there 
flashed  through  his  mind  many  a  strange  camp  scene  in 
which  he  had  seen  that  little  volume  in  the  hand  of  his  lost 
leader.  Bidding  a  sad  farewell  to  the  daughters  of  the 
house  and  to  the  noble-hearted  Lady  Letitia,  he  returned  to 
the  hall,  when  once  more  the  mournful  procession  formed, 
and  the  walls  of  the  old  house  rang  and  echoed  as  the 
soldiers'  voices  rose  in  a  great  reassuring  burst  of  song: 
"  Lord,  Thou  hast  been  our  refuge  from  one  generation  to 
another." 

A  fortnight  before,  they  had  spent  that  happy  Sunday 
together,  with  Hampden  as  the  life  of  the  party;  now,  as 
Joscelyn  glanced  back,  he  saw  the  broken-hearted  wife,  the 
mother,  the  poor  weeping  girls,  watching  at  the  far  end  of 
the  hall,  while  in  advance  the  soldiers  bore  the  body  of  their 
colonel  to  its  last  resting-place,  and  the  sad -hearted  little 
heir — not  yet  twelve  years  old — walked  behind,  holding  fast 
to  Sir  Robert  Pye's  hand,  and  bravely  struggling  to  keep 
back  his  tears. 

With  arms  reversed,  they  marched  through  the  quiet  park 
to  the  church-yard  gate,  where  the  rector  met  them  with 
the  words  of  good  cheer  spoken  ages  ago  at  Bethany ;  and 
passing  into  the  church,  the  soldiers  laid  the  body  of  John 
Hampden  beside  the  tombs  of  his  forefathers  in.  the  chancel 
near  the  touchingly  worded  memorial  which  he  had  dedi- 
cated to  his  dead  wife.  It  seemed  as  if  that  whole  church- 
ful  of  men — and  they  were  but  the  representatives  of  thou- 
sands of  absent  mourners — took  most  literally  the  beautiful 


305 

phrase  of  the  burial  -  service,  "  Our  dear  brother  here  de- 
parted." The  dead  statesman,  who  for  two -and -twenty 
years  had  toiled  for  them  and  their  rights  in  Parliament,  the 
champion  of  truth  and  righteousness ;  who,  alone  and  single- 
handed,  had  fought  a  tyrannical  King  and  seven  servile 
judges,  enduring  imprisonment,  obloquy,  and  slander ;  the 
soldier  with  his  matchless  courage,  his  rare  modesty,  his 
devotion  to  the  country  —  had  been,  in  spite  of  his  great 
wealth  and  ancient  pedigree,  simply  and  literally  their 
brother,  more  fully  in  sympathy  with  them  than  any  other 
man  of  that  time. 

Joscelyn  had  made  his  farewells  at  the  house,  and  did 
not  again  return  to  it;  he  ordered  Hotspur  to  be  saddled, 
and  when  the  crowd  in  the  church-yard  had  dispersed  to 
see  the  soldiers  return,  he  once  more  entered  the  church, 
and  passing  into  the  deserted  chancel,  knelt  beside  the 
open  grave.  Then,  at  last,  the  floodgates  of  his  grief  were 
opened ;  with  choking  sobs  that  shook  his  whole  frame  he 
fell  forward  on  the  stone  slab  which  before  long  would 
cover  Hampclen's  tomb,  weeping  the  most  bitter  tears  of 
his  life. 

Presently  a  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  porch  made  him 
spring  to  his  feet,  and,  with  an  effort,  drive  back  those 
signs  of  grief  which  no  Heyworth  quite  forgave  himself 
for  showing  before  others.  The  sexton  and  his  assistants 
had  come  to  finish  their  work.  With  bowed  head  Joscelyn 
hurried  past  them,  made  his  way  to  the  stables,  mounted 
his  horse,  and  rode  away  from  the  place  which  must  for- 
ever be  bound  up  with  his  most  precious  memories. 

A  summer  shower  was  something  of  a  relief  to  him,  and 
by-and-by  the  sun  shone  out  for  the  first  time  that  day.  He 
paused  for  a  minute  to  look  back  over  the  lovely  landscape 
with  its  verdant  hills  and  wooded  valleys,  and  saw  for  the 
last  time  the  Whiteleaf  cross  commemorating  an  old  Saxon 

20 


3Q6 

victory  over  Danish  invaders  clearly  marked  on  the  distant 
hill-side,  while  resting  almost  upon  it  was  the  upward  spring 
of  the  arch  of  a  brilliant  rainbow.  The  sight  cheered  his 
heavy  heart.  Hope  springing  from  self-sacrifice,  light  from 
cruel  loss,  the  world's  greater  gain  from  the  living  of  a  noble, 
manly  life — were  not  these  undying  realities  ?  Vaguely  he 
had  known  it  all  long  ago,  but  through  the  life  and  death 
of  Hampden  the  truth  had  gained  for  him  new  force  and 
meaning. 

Riding  that  night  as  long  as  the  light  served  him,  he  slept 
at  one  of  the  comfortable  road-side  inns,  at  that  time  much 
more  plentiful,  and  very  early  the  next  morning  resumed  his 
journey  to  London.  He  found  the  whole  place  in  mourning 
over  the  news  of  Hampden's  death,  while  intense  bitterness 
had  been  stirred  up  by  the  rancorous  attacks  made  upon 
him  in  the  Royalist  journals.  The  one  which  perhaps  an- 
gered Joscelyn  the  most  was  the  attack  in  the  Mercurius 
Aulicus,  published  the  very  day  of  Hampden's  death,  at 
Oxford.  It  raked  up  again  that  strange  farrago  of  mingled 
truth  and  falsehood  with  regard  to  Hampden's  private  sor- 
rows which  had  wounded  the  bereaved  father's  heart,  at  a 
time  when  one  might  have  expected  even  a  fiend  incarnate 
to  hold  his  peace.  Many  of  the  nobler  spirits  among  the 
King's  followers,  such  as  Falkland  and  Hopton  and  Chil- 
lingworth,  preserved  a  reverent  silence,  and  doubtless 
mourned  the  loss  of  a  noble  enemy,  but  the  servile  court 
liars  gathered  about  the  grave  of  the  dead  man  like  ghouls, 
and  the  press  disgraced  itself  by  promulgating  the  vilest 
personalities  of  party  warfare. 

Joscelyn,  young  and  hot-headed,  was  affected  very  griev- 
ously by  these  attacks  on  his  dead  leader.  An  older  man 
might  have  borne  them  with  greater  philosophy,  and  have 
treated  them  with  the  calm  disdain  they  deserved.  But  he 
was  lacking  in  this  faculty  of  disdain,  and  as  he  rode  down 


FOR   A   MINUTE   THE    TUTOR    FAILED    TO    RECOGNIZE    HIS    FORMER    PUPIL. 

[Page  3c 


3Q7 

to  Katterham  there  was  a  hard,  bitter  look  in  his  face  which 
had  never  been  there  before. 

Sir  Robert  Neal  was  quick  to  note  the  change  in  him, 
and  to  understand  its  cause.  When  he  had  heard  the  de- 
tails of  his  friend's  death,  he  turned  the  subject  quietly,  and 
began  to  speak  of  Clemency  and  of  the  future,  alluding  to 
the  marriage  contract  which  had  been  signed  in  London. 

"These  are  but  ill  days,"  he  said,  "for  marrying  and 
giving  in  marriage.  But  I  am  an  old  man  and  growing 
feeble,  and  I  should  like  to  see  Clemency  your  wife  be- 
fore I  die." 

They  then  spoke  of  the  journey  which  Clemency  had  to 
make  from  Gloucester,  and  of  its  difficulties  and  perils, 
arranging  that  if  any  break  in  the  war  should  come  and 
hostilities  be  for  a  time  suspended,  it  might  be  advisable 
for  the  marriage  to  take  place  from  Christopher  Bennett's 
house,  so  that  Joscelyn  should  himself  be  able  to  escort  her 
back  to  Katterham. 

But,  alas!  any  cessation  of  the  strife  seemed  then  but 
little  likely.  The  prospects  of  the  Parliamentary  party  be- 
came day  by  day  darker :  Pym  was  in  failing  health,  Essex 
was  torpid  and  timorous,  troops  from  the  north  were  hasten- 
ing to  join  the  King,  London  itself  was  threatened,  from 
the  west  came  news  of  Royalist  triumphs,  and  Hampden 
was  dead. 

Small  wonder  that  as  Joscelyn  journeyed  down  to  Som- 
ersetshire the  iron  entered  into  his  soul  when  he  mused  on 
the  rejoicings  of  the  Cavaliers  over  the  loss  that  had  well- 
nigh  broken  his  heart.  Small  wonder  that  he  thought  of 
the  King  with  something  like  loathing  when  he  pictured 
him  as  rewarding  the  deserter  Hurry  with  the  honor  of 
knighthood  for  his  services  at  Chalgrove — Hurry  the  rene- 
gade, once  a  comrade  of  Hampden's,  yet  not  ashamed  to 
spend  the  very  Sunday  of  his  burial  in  attacking  and  plun- 


dering  the  Parliamentary  quarters  at  Wycombe,  slaughtering 
some  of  the  very  troops  he  had  once  led. 

It  was  in  this  sore-hearted  and  bitter  state  that  he  ar- 
rived, on  the  evening  of  the  ist  July,  at  the  village  of 
North  Cadbury  in  Somersetshire,  and  having  been  directed 
by  a  shepherd  boy  to  the  parsonage,  rode  up  to  the  door 
just  as  the  sun  was  setting.  Whichcote  and  his  young  bride 
had  been  walking  in  the  garden,  and  seeing  the  unexpected 
guest  dismount,  hastened  forward  to  receive  him,  though 
for  a  minute  the  tutor  failed  to  recognize  his  former  pupil 
in  this  stern-faced  officer,  with  his  compressed,  bitter-looking 
mouth  and  sorrowful  eyes.  But  Joscelyn,  seeing  his  master's 
broad-browed  and  most  winning  face  once  more,  and  re- 
calling at  the  sight  his  happy  life  at  Cambridge,  forgot  for 
a  moment  his  grief,  and  with  all  his  old  warmth  of  manner 
hastened  forward  with  eager  greetings. 

"  Forgive  me,  sir,  for  coming  in  this  unceremonious  fash- 
ion," he  said,  "  but  I  am  on  my  way  to  rejoin  Sir  William 
Waller,  who,  I  learn,  is  now  at  Bath,  and  being  commis- 
sioned to  bear  you  a  watch  bequeathed  to  you  by  Mr.  Gains- 
borough, of  Lincoln,  I  thought  I  had  best  deliver  it  in 
person." 

Whichcote  gave  him  a  most  cordial  greeting,  and  then 
introduced  him  to  his  wife. 

"  I  scarcely  knew  you  for  the  moment,"  he  said,  apolo- 
getically, "and,  indeed,  had  thought  you  were  travelling 
abroad ;  but  I  see  you  have  elected  to  stay  and  play  your 
part  in  this  troubled  land  of  ours." 

No  word  in  relation  to  politics  had  ever  before  passed 
between  them — it  had  been  a  subject  which  Joscelyn,  in  his 
Cambridge  days,  had  carefully  avoided.  Nor  had  he  ever 
regarded  Whichcote  as  a  Puritan,  though  he  had  lately 
learned  that  he  was  one  of  the  most  broad-minded  sup- 
porters of  the  cause. 


3Q9 

Whichcote  walked  with  him  to  the  stable,  Joscelyn  pre- 
ferring to  see  to  his  favorite  horse  himself,  and  explaining 
how  much  he  valued  him. 

"He  was  with  me  at  Chalgrove  field,"  he  said,  "and  dur- 
ing Colonel  Hampden's  last  ride  back  to  Thame," 

"You  knew  Colonel  Hampden,  then?"  said  Whichcote. 
"  That  was  indeed  a  better  training  for  you  than  months  of 
travel  in  Europe.  Truly,  all  England  mourns  when  such  a 
one  dies." 

Then,  seeing  the  spasm  of  pain  which  passed  over  the 
young  man's  face,  Whichcote  quietly  changed  the  subject, 
and  led  him  back  to  the  parsonage,  where,  though  all  was 
simple  and  unostentatious,  there  were  nevertheless  the 
dainty  freshness  and  the  careful  arrangement  which  charac- 
terize the  first  home  of  a  happily  wedded  pair.  After  supper 
he  took  him  into  the  little  room  which  served  him  for  his 
study,  and  sitting  there  by  the  open  window  in  the  fading 
light  they  talked  together  of  all  that  had  passed  since  their 
parting  a  year  ago.  It  was  indeed  hard  to  realize  that  it  was 
but  a  year,  for  Joscelyn  had  leaped  from  careless  boyhood 
into  manhood  laden  with  care,  while  his  natural  hopefulness, 
which  had  carried  him  through  so  many  troubles,  seemed  in 
the  great  shock  of  Hampden's  death  to  have  been  crushed 
out  of  him. 

Whichcote  was  quick  to  note  that  he  sought  refuge  in 
bitter  words  against  the  King  and  his  party,  not  SQ  much 
from  any  deeply  ingrained  hatred  as  in  the  desperate 
attempt  to  relieve  that  overwhelming  blankness  of  loss 
which  all  who  had  looked  to  Hampden  as  their  champion 
and  defender  were  now  experiencing.  He  just  let  him 
pour  out  all  his  wrath  and  grief,  and  then  began,  in  his 
quiet,  finely  modulated  voice,  to  attempt  some  sort  of  reply. 

"  I  am  apt  to  think,  Captain  Heyworth,"  he  said,  throw- 
ing the  casement  window  a  little  wider  open  as  he  spoke, 


3io 

"  that  many  who  have  been  exasperated  one  against  another 
are  far  nearer  to  one  another  in  sense  than  in  words.  In  re- 
spect of  God,  who  seeth  hearts,  they  agree  more  than  in  the 
view  of  the  world,  which  only  sees  outward  expressions.  I 
believe  for  one  real  difference  in  matters  of  consequence 
between  persons  considerable  there  are  twenty  mistakes  of 
meanings,  and  could  they  see  one  another's  hearts  they 
would  think  better  of  one  another." 

"  Would  you,  then,  sir,  wholly  excuse  these  vile  slander- 
ers ?"  said  Joscelyn,  the  fierce  light  in  his  eyes  still  unsub- 
dued. 

"  Whosoever  scornfully  uses  any  other  man,"  said  Which- 
cote,  "  disparages  himself  the  human  nature.  Opposites 
too  often  study  to  represent  each  other  in  the  worst  sense. 
Let  us  honestly  endeavor  to  take  our  foes  at  their  best ; 
for  every  man  at  his  best  will  be  found  good  for  some- 
thing." 

"  What!"  cried  Joscelyn  ;  "  a  traitor  such  as  Hurry?  You 
cannot  realize,  sir,  what  he  is,  how  vicious  his  life,  how  alto- 
gether without  sense  of  honor,  so  that  even  the  Cavaliers 
— whom  God  knows  are  not  over-particular — were  shy  of 
putting  their  confidence  in  such  a  one.  I  can  well  under- 
stand that  a  man  may  honorably  change  his  views,  but 
Hurry  was  so  vile  as  to  carry  information  to  Oxford  of  the 
large  sum  of  money  being  sent  from  London  to  the  lord- 
general  at  Thame,  and  'twas  in  hopes  of  taking  this  prize 
that  the  expedition  ending  in  the  fight  at  Chalgrove  was 
first  set  on  foot." 

"  I  had  not  heard  that,"  said  Whichcote.  "  Few  details 
reach  us  here  in  the  country.  Did  Prince  Rupert  seize  the 
money?" 

"  No,  sir ;  by  good-fortune  he  missed  it ;  for  the  burning 
of  Chinnor  and  the  noise  of  the  fray  warned  the  drivers  of 
the  wagons,  and  they  turned  aside  into  the  woods,  waiting 


"AFTER   SUPPER    HE   TOOK    HIM    INTO    HIS   STUDY.' 


[Page  309. 


till  the  Cavaliers  had  passed  by.  Nothing  was  gained  to  the 
King  by  the  expedition  save  a  few  prisoners  and  the  shoot- 
ing of  Colonel  Hampden.  'Tis  for  this  last,  clearly,  that  the 
King  hath  knighted  that  vile  renegade." 

With  difficulty  he  strangled  a  curse  out  of  deference  to  his 
host,  and  pushing  back  his  chair,  began  to  pace  to  and  fro 
with  what  Sir  John  Denham  would  have  termed  his  "  bull 
in  the  net "  expression. 

Whichcote,  whose  personal  life  happened  at  this  time  to 
be  specially  bright,  was  greatly  moved  by  his  companion's 
trouble. 

Himself  still  comparatively  young,  for  he  was  at  this  time 
only  four-and-thirty,  he  was  able  to  understand  Joscelyn's 
state  of  mind  much  better  than  an  older  man  might  have 
done. 

"  I  have  often  thought  of  late,"  he  said,  "  that  both  joy 
and  grief  are  things  of  great  hazard  and  danger  in  the  life 
of  man.  The  one  breaks  the  heart,  the  other  intoxicates 
the  head.  An  eye  to  God  in  both  doth  poise  and  balance." 

Joscelyn  left  off  pacing  to  and  fro.  The  words  arrested 
him ;  he  came  and  stood  by  the  open  window,  looking  out 
into  the  summer  twilight,  a  calm  like  that  of  the  dewy  gar- 
den stealing  over  his  troubled  heart  as  he  listened  to  his 
companion's  words. 

"The  state  of  religion,"  said  Whichcote,  quietly,  "seems 
to  me  to  consist  in  a  divine  frame  and  temper  of  mind,  and 
shows  itself  in  a  life  and  actions  conformable  to  the  Divine 
will.  Religion  is  not  a  hearsay,  a  presumption,  a  supposi- 
tion ;  is  not  a  customary  pretension  or  profession  ;  is  not  an 
affectation  of  any  mode ;  is  not  a  piety  of  particular  fancy, 
consisting  in  some  pathetic  devotions,  vehement  expressions, 
bodily  severities,  affected  anomalies,  and  aversions  from  the 
innocent  ways  of  others,  but  consisteth  in  a  profound  hu- 
mility and  a  universal  charity. 


312 

"Universal,  sir?"  questioned  Joscelyn,  who  had  many  of 
the  qualities  which  go  to  make  a  good  hater. 

"  Aye,"  said  Whichcote,  smiling  a  little  at  his  expression 
of  face,  "  universal.  And  remember  that  God  imposeth  no 
law  of  righteousness  upon  us  which  he  doth  not  observe 
himself.  Too  often  men  have  an  itch  rather  to  make  relig- 
ion than  to  use  it;  but  we  are  to  use  our  religion,  not  to 
make  it." 

Joscelyn  sighed.  "  Your  standard,  sir,  seems  to  me  alto- 
gether too  high  for  one  who  has  to  live  in  the  world  nowa- 
days. The  ideal  is  a  noble  one,  but  how  should  a  man 
compass  it?  How  learn  to  love  the  base,  the  loveless,  the 
oppressors  ?" 

"I  know  only  of  this  way,"  said  Whichcote,  his  eyes 
looking  far  beyond  the  dim  garden,  as  though  reading  the 
secrets  of  another  world.  "  We  must  learn  of  the  Divine 
Wisdom,  imitate  the  Divine  Goodness,  depend  on  the  Di- 
vine Power." 

The  words  never  left  Joscelyn's  memory,  and  he  carried 
all  through  his  life  the  recollection  of  the  quiet  Sunday  that 
followed,  and  of  the  sermon  that  he  heard  Whichcote  preach 
in  North  Cadbury  Church,  on  the  3ist  and  32d  verses  of  the 
fourth  chapter  of  the  letter  to  the  Ephesians.  Always  he 
could  hear  the  preacher's  clear  voice  pleading  for  the  dis- 
charge from  the  heart  of  all  ill  will  and  displeasure  against 
others,  and  of  that  false  zeal  which  degenerates  into  passion 
and  interest,  and  is  wholly  unlike  the  Divine  goodness,  kind- 
ness, and  clemency  which  it  is  our  duty  to  imitate.  The 
word  "clemency"  for  a  time  distracted  Joscelyn.  He  missed 
a  good  deal  that  followed,  and  wandered  off  in  thought  to 
the  gabled  house  at  Gloucester. 

When  he  returned  to  the  present,  the  speaker  was  saying 
that  differences  of  opinion  must  exist,  for  men  must  think 
as  they  found  cause,  and  no  man  was  master  of  his  own  ap- 


3^3 

prehensions.  Therefore,  urged  Whichcote,  we  must  dwell 
on  those  points  on  which  we  do  agree,  and  make  allowance 
for  the  different  tempers  of  men.  Some  men's  apprehen- 
sions could  not  possibly  hit  in  anything ;  they  were  cast  in 
different  moulds,  and  could  no  more  help  this  than  they 
could  make  their  faces  alike.  But  anger,  ill  will,  and  dis- 
pleasure disqualified  the  mind  from  the  pursuit  of  truth,  and 
the  choicest  piece  of  charity  was  to  make  fair  interpretation 
and  to  put  a  candid  construction  on  men's  actions.  He 
would  fain  engage  men  to  humanity,  courtesy,  and  universal 
charity,  so  as,  if  it  were  possible,  to  promote  a  general 
reconciliation  in  the  whole  creation  of  God.  Finally  he 
claimed  freedom  in  all  points  save  only  in  this — that  men 
are  not  at  liberty  to  judge  one  another;  and  with  one  more 
strong  appeal  to  his  hearers  to  strive  after  a  godlike  frame 
and  temper  of  mind,  he  brought  to  a  close  the  most  strik- 
ing sermon  that  Joscelyn  could  ever  remember  hearing. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

They  have  seemed  to  be  together,  though  absent ;  shook  hands,  as 
over  a  vast ;  and  embraced,  as  it  were,  from  the  ends  of  opposed  winds. 
The  heavens  continue  their  loves  ! — WINTER'S  TALE,  Act  i.,  Scene  i. 

EARLY  on  the  Monday  Joscelyn  left  the  quiet  of  the  country 
parsonage,  and  before  many  hours  had  passed  found  him- 
self once  more  in  the  midst  of  the  strife.  Not  without 
considerable  risk  he  succeeded  in  making  his  way  alone 
through  a  country  infested  by  the  enemy,  and  contrived  to 
join  the  main  body  of  Waller's  army,  which  had  taken  up  a 
position  just  below  Claverton  Down,  guarding  Bath  against 
the  threatened  approach  of  the  Royalists  from  Bradford- 
on-Avon.  The  lovely  little  village  of  Claverton  presented 
a  strange  scene  :  the  beautiful  old  hall  had  been  converted 
into  a  temporary  garrison,  the  river  had  been  spanned  by 
a  hastily  erected  bridge,  and  a  redoubt  had  been  thrown 
up  to  defend  it.  Pausing  at  a  little  distance,  Joscelyn 
watched  the  safe  transit  of  two  cannon  and  of  a  detachment 
of  steel-capped  soldiers  across  the  Avon.  The  sight  of 
those  tawny  orange  scarfs  all  massed  together  and  of  the 
familiar  blue  banner  of  the  Parliament  stirred  his  heart 
strangely.  Hampden  was  dead,  but  the  good  cause  re- 
mained, the  cause  which  the  patriot's  dying  lips  had  bade 
him  serve.  His  old  buoyant  hopefulness  returned  to  him, 
and  his  face  was  full  of  its  wonted  cheerfulness  as  he 
greeted  his  chief.  Sir  William  Waller  had  been  directing 
matters  at  the  passage  of  the  river.  At  sight  of  his  favorite 
officer  his  black  eyes  lighted  up  with  a  gleam  of  pleasure, 
and  he  gave  him  a  most  hearty  welcome. 


"  I  have  missed  you  sorely,"  he  said,  "  and  you  are  re- 
turned just  in  time  for  the  fray,  if  I  mistake  not.  The 
enemy  are  endeavoring  to  reach  Bath  by  this  valley  of  the 
Avon,  by  far  the  easiest  approach.  We  shall  frustrate 
their  plans  here,  I  trust,  and  drive  them  to  attack  it  on 
the  northern  side,  where  they  will  find  it  no  easy  task  to 
oust  us  from  the  heights  of  Lansdown.  In  the  mean- 
time let  us  feed  while  we  may;  you  were  ever  good  at 
catering." 

In  truth  Joscelyn's  handsome  face  and  courteous  bearing 
stood  him  in  very  good  stead,  and  even  where  the  country 
folk  were  hostile  to  the  Parliament  he  could  generally  ob- 
tain better  provisions  by  a  simple  request  than  others  by 
threats  and  commands.  Here  in  East  Somersetshire,  more- 
over, the  people  were  entirely  devoted  to  the  Parliament, 
and  Claverton  was  ready  enough  to  furnish  Waller  and  his 
men  with  all  that  they  needed.  Waller,  who  was  as  tem- 
perate and  simple  in  his  tastes  as  Hampden  himself,  rested 
for  a  while  under  the  shade  of  a  great  elm  watching  the 
movements  of  Major  Dowet,  over  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river,  upon  Monckton  Farleigh  Down.  From  time  to 
time  he  questioned  Joscelyn  as  to  the  details  of  the  skirmish 
on  Chalgrove  field  and  the  last  days  of  Hampden,  and  told 
him  what  had  passed  during  his  absence. 

"  I  greatly  wished  you  had  been  with  me  after  the  fight  at 
Chewton  Mendip,"  he  said ;  "  for  Sir  Ralph  Hopton,  being 
anxious  to  meet  me  in  a  private  interview,  sent  a  very  cour- 
teous and  friendly  letter  making  the  request,  and  chose  as 
his  ambassador  one  of  your  brothers." 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,  which  of  them  came  ?"  said  Joscelyn, 
eagerly. 

"  I  heard  not  his  name,  merely  that  he  was  Captain  Hey- 
worth,  upon  which  for  a  moment  I  had  hoped  'twas  you 
yourself  returned,  but  there  was  shown  into  my  room  a 


young  man  of  about  your  age,  or  maybe  younger,  and  look- 
ing somewhat  as  you  might,  with  darker  hair,  skin,  and  eyes ; 
a  very  pleasant-mannered,  well-bred  youth  he  seemed,  and 
grievously  disappointed  by  your  absence." 

"  Then  it  was  Dick,"  said  Joscelyn,  regretfully.  "  And 
did  you,  sir,  have  the  interview  with  Sir  Ralph  Hopton  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Waller,  "  much  as  I  should  have  liked  to  meet 
my  old  friend  ;  but  I  well  knew  that  we  were  both  of  us  en- 
tirely true  to  the  cause  we  each  serve,  and  incapable  of  be- 
ing wrought  upon  by  any  persuasions.  Moreover,  the  con- 
ference could  never  have  been  so  close  between  us  but  that  it 
would  take  wind,  and  receive  a  construction  to  my  dishonor. 
May  God  in  his  good  time  send  us  the  blessing  of  peace,  and 
in  the  meantime  fit  us  to  receive  it !  Then  shall  many  friend- 
ly foes  be  restored  to  one  another's  society.  Your  brother, 
by-the-bye,  left  with  me  a  letter,  which  you  shall  have  when 
we  return  to  our  quarters  at  Bath.  'Tis  a  cruel  fate  that 
has  severed  two  kinsmen  thus  strongly  attached  to  one 
another." 

Through  the  hours  of  skirmishing  that  followed  Joscelyn 
felt  very  bitterly  the  truth  of  Waller's  last  words,  and  as 
the  sound  of  firing  and  the  clash  of  steel  rang  through  the 
wooded  valley  his  thoughts  kept  returning  to  Dick,  till  only 
by  the  most  painful  effort  could  he  drag  them  back  to  his 
own  duties.  It  appeared  that  a  detachment  sent  forward  by 
Major  Dowet  to  occupy  a  wood  on  the  road  to  Bradford  by 
which  the  Royalists  were  advancing  had,  after  an  hour's 
engagement,  been  utterly  routed,  and  Waller's  forces  were 
compelled  before  long  to  evacuate  Claverton  and  to  retire 
towards  Bath.  The  Royalists  did  not,  however,  venture 
to  attempt  the  city  from  the  side  on  which  it  was  so  well 
guarded,  but,  as  Waller  had  predicted,  resolved  to  attack 
Bath  on  the  northern  side,  and  took  up  their  quarters  at 
Marshfield. 


It  was  not  till  the  night  of  the  4th  July  that  Joscelyn  re- 
ceived the  letter  which  he  so  greatly  longed  for.  Then,  as 
Waller  retired  to  his  quarters  in  Bath  at  the  Nag's  Head  in 
Northgate .  Street  for  a  few  hours'  sleep,  he  handed  him  the 
following  lines,  which  Dick  had  hastily  penned  : 

"  DEAR  JOSCELYN, — I  am  sorely  disappointed  that  you  are 
still  absent,  having  counted  much  on  getting  speech  with 
you.  Yet  it  is  perhaps  well  that  you  are  not  with  Sir  Will- 
iam Waller,  as  we  stand  less  risk  of  causing  each  other's 
death  in  this  detestable  strife.  My  father  got  a  slight  wound 
in  a  skirmish  the  other  day,  and  will  rest  some  two  or  three 
weeks  at  Wells.  Otherwise  all  goes  right,  save  that  Jervis 
agrees  but  ill  with  Sir  Ralph  Hopton,  and  I  doubt  his  being 
able  to  continue  much  longer  in  his  army.  Hopton  is  not 
unlike  your  commander — all  for  mercy  and  forbearance  and 
courtesy  betwixt  foes,  so  that  the  temper  of  men  like  Prince 
Maurice  and  Jervis  and  some  others  one  could  name  is  in- 
sufferable to  him.  The  news  from  Shortell  is  good.  Isabel 
safely  married  to  that  fop  Toby  Blount,  and  Rosamond  re- 
covered of  her  sickness.  Forget  not,  if,  as  seems  likely,  you 
Parliamentarians  find  yourselves  shortly  overcome  and  in 
peril  of  your  lives,  that  there  is  at  least  one  Royalist  ready 
to  move  heaven  and  earth  to  preserve  you  from  the  conse- 
quences of  this  strife." 

Folding  the  letter  with  a  sigh,  Joscelyn  vainly  tried  to 
sleep.  It  was  already  past  midnight,  and  he  lay  listening  to 
the  footsteps  of  the  sentries,  and  to  the  hoarse  voice  of  the 
watchman  proclaiming  the  hour,  till  at  last  the  dawn  broke, 
and  with  a  heavy  heart  he  rose  to  take  his  part  in  that  day's 
work. 

As  they  left  the  hostlery  and  passed  into  Northgate  Street 
the  whole  city  seemed  shrouded  in  mist,  so  that  he  could 


only  dimly  descry  the  great  tower  of  the  abbey.  But  as  they 
mounted  the  long  hill  of  Lansdown  they  gradually  emerged 
into  a  clearer  air,  and  pausing  for  a  brief  rest  at  the  brow  of 
the  hill  before  traversing  the  level  length  of  the  ridge,  Jos- 
celyn  looked  back  with  wonder  upon  the  strangely  weird 
effect  of  the  valley  mist.  It  seemed  as  if  a  beautiful  calm 
lake  filled  the  gorge,  while  the  wooded  tops  of  the  hills 
fringed  its  shore,  and  in  the  exquisite  stillness  of  early  morn- 
ing the  scene  seemed  full  of  a  most  heavenly  peace.  Who 
would  have  thought  that  beneath  that  magical  mist-lake  lay 
hundreds  of  anxious  hearts,  and  the  homes  of  that  city  in 
whose  defence  he  was  about  to  fight  ?  Marching  along  to 
the  farther  end  of  the  Lansdown  ridge,  Waller's  army  took 
up  a  strong  position  just  at  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  here 
breastworks  of  earth  and  fagots  were  hastily  thrown  up  and 
the  cannon  planted.  Then  followed  a  weary  time  of  wait- 
ing ;  the  Royalist  troops  were  plainly  to  be  seen  over  on 
Tog  Hill,  but  they  hesitated  to  attack  Waller's  splendid  posi- 
tion ;  and  finding  that  he  awaited  their  advance,  they  began  to 
retire.  This  was  more  than  the  Conqueror  could  patiently 
put  up  with.  It  was  imperatively  necessary  that  he  should 
prevent  the  Royalists  from  joining  the  King's  other  army  at 
Oxford,  and  he  gave  the  order  for  the  whole  of  his  cavalry  to 
pursue  the  retreating  enemy,  while  the  infantry  still  guarded 
the  heights  of  Lansdown.  In  a  few  minutes  a  noble  party 
of  horsemen  were  streaming  down  the  hill,  foremost  among 
them  being  the  new  regiment  formed  in  May  by  Sir  Arthur 
Hazlerigg  during  his  visit  to  London.  These  men,  thorough- 
ly incased  in  armor,  received  the  nickname  of  the  "  Lob- 
sters," and  struck  such  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  Cava- 
liers that  for  a  time  they  carried  all  before  them,  and  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  Hopton  and  his  officers  induced  their  men 
to  charge  them.  After  a  severe  conflict,  however,  the  Par- 
liamentarians, being  greatly  outnumbered,  were  forced  to  re- 


3'9 

treat,  and  many  of  the  poor  "Lobsters"  found  that  their 
new  armor  was  not  an  unmixed  benefit,  for  if  they  were  once 
unhorsed  it  was  so  heavy  that  they  could  scarcely  mount 
again.  After  this  the  Royalists  advanced  boldly,  the  Cor- 
nishmen  of  Prince  Maurice's  army  being  specially  eager  to 
attack  the  Hill  of  Lansdown. 

Veterans  who  had  been  present  during  the  wars  in  France 
declared  that  never  had  they  seen  such  righting  as  they  saw 
that  day.  Again  and  again  the  Parliamentarians  charged 
down  the  hill,  but  still  the  valiant  Royalists  advanced.  On 
either  side  the  slaughter  was  terrible ;  and  Joscelyn,  as  he 
returned  from  delivering  a  message  to  the  musketeers 
stationed  in  a  little  wood  to  Waller's  right,  found  the  grass 
strewn  with  the  dead  and  wounded.  Thinking  of  Dick,  his 
heart  sickened  within  him  ;  he  looked  away  from  the  blood- 
stained turf  and  the  ghastly  scenes  surrounding  him  to 
where,  far  in  the  distance,  the  sun  bathed  the  peaceful  land- 
scape in  light  and  touched  the  waters  of  the  Bristol  Channel 
into  a  vivid  streak  of  dazzling  silver.  The  contrast  stirred 
up  in  him  a  wild,  unreasoning  revolt ;  nature,  it  seemed  to 
him,  should  not  at  that  moment  have  looked  so  calm. 

Urging  Hotspur  forward,  he  galloped  towards  his  com- 
rades, who  were  retiring  up  the  hill  again  to  face  the  next 
charge,  when  suddenly  he  perceived,  lying  almost  beneath 
his  horse's  feet,  the  face  that  had  persistently  haunted  him 
all  through  the  long  hours  of  the  battle — Dick's  face,  ghastly 
pale,  the  eyes  full  of  dreadful  dumb  agony.  In  an  instant 
he  had  reined  back  Hotspur  and  dismounted. 

"  Is  it  you  ?"  cried  Dick,  his  face  lighting  up  with  a  look 
of  intense  relief. 

"Where  are  you  wounded?"  asked  Joscelyn,  breathing 
hard. 

"  A  ball  here  in  the  thigh,"  said  Dick.  "  Don't  linger.  Sir 
Bevil  Granville  will  charge." 


320 

"  What !"  cried  Joscelyn  ;  "  am  I  to  leave  you  to  be  tram- 
pled to  death  ?  Nay,  I  will  set  you  on  my  horse.  I  can 
hold  you  in  the  saddle,  never  fear." 

And  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  he  lifted  Dick  in  his 
strong  arms,  and  with  some  difficulty  contrived  to  place  him 
on  Hotspur's  back,  holding  him  firmly  with  his  right  arm, 
and,  himself  on  foot,  urging  his  chestnut  to  mount  the  hill. 
It  was  indeed  a  desperate  attempt.  Between  two  fires  they 
pressed  on,  the  burning  rays  of  the  July  sun  beating  down 
upon  them,  the  way  growing  more  and  more  steep,  and  the 
fierce  Cornishmen  gaining  upon  them  at  every  step.  Dick 
had  entirely  lost  consciousness,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  Joscelyn  could  support  him  ;  but  Hotspur 
seemed  to  understand  from  his  master's  voice  what  great 
things  were  expected  of  him,  and  he  struggled  up  bravely. 
They  had  almost  gained  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and,  for 
greater  speed,  were  making  a  cut  across  the  turf,  when, 
warned  by  the  near  approach  of  trampling  feet  and  the 
half -unintelligible  war-cries  shouted  by  hundreds  of  lusty 
voices,  Joscelyn  glanced  over  his  right  shoulder.  To  his 
dismay  he  found  that  the  Cornishmen  were  almost  upon 
them ,  the  hill-side  bristled  with  the  ascending  pikes. 

"  On,  Hotspur,  on  !"  he  cried  in  a  tone  that  made  the  no- 
ble charger  bound  forward.  They  were  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  safety — he  was  straining  every  nerve  to  keep  his 
brother  still  in  the  saddle — when  suddenly  a  terrible  thrust 
in  the  right  side,  just  below  the  upstretched  arm  that  grasped 
Dick,  utterly  disabled  him.  A  pike  had  run  him  clean 
through.  As  he  fell  to  the  ground  it  was  wrenched  out 
again.  Then  followed  two  minutes  of  mortal  agony,  while 
the  fierce  Cornish  pikemen  surged  over  him  ;  then  for  a  time 
he  lost  consciousness. 

What  followed  seemed  like  some  horrible  dream  ;  he 
struggled  back  to  life  again,  heard  the  roar  of  battle,  tried 


to  shift  his  position,  and  sank  back  fainting.  Again  he 
came  to  himself,  only  to  find  a  deadly  struggle  going  on 
close  at  hand,  and  to  suffer  torture,  as  once  more  he  was 
trampled  under  the  feet  of  the  combatants.  When  he  next 
opened  his  eyes  and  raised  his  head  a  little  from  the  blood- 
stained turf  the  sky  was  crimson  with  the  sunset  glow,  the 
firing  was  fitful  and  seemed  farther  off,  and  close  by  he 
heard  the  sound  of  horsemen  advancing  and  of  cannon 
being  dragged  up  the  steep  ascent.  It  flashed  through  his 
mind  that  Waller  must  have  been  driven  from  his  position, 
and  once  more  he  tried  to  raise  himself  and  see  what  was 
passing,  but  again  faintness  overwhelmed  him. 

By  the  time  he  recovered  his  senses  the  summer  twilight 
was  fast  deepening  into  night,  and  the  battle  seemed  prac- 
tically over,  though  at  long  intervals  the  dull  roar  of  cannon 
echoed  among  the  hills.  And  now,  as  full  recollection  came 
back  to  him,  Joscelyn  was  seized  with  a  terrible  longing  to 
know  what  Dick's  fate  had  been.  It  was  scarcely  likely  that 
he  would  have  kept  on  Hotspur's  back ;  he  was  probably 
lying  within  a  few  yards  of  him,  either  dying  or  dead.  Rais- 
ing himself  by  slow  and  painful  inches,  he  looked  up  the 
dusky  hill-side,  strewn  with  the  dead  and  wounded. 

Where  in  all  this  terrible  gathering  was  Dick  ? 

A  prostrate  form  lying  about  two  or  three  yards  above 
him  stirred  a  little  just  then  and  groaned  heavily.  A  great 
hope  dawned  in  Joscelyn's  heart.  With  an  effort  which  cost 
him  agony,  he  crawled  on  his  hands  and  knees  up  the  steep 
slope,  and  in  the  dim  light  could  just  discern  Dick's  familiar 
face. 

The  boy  did  not  recognize  him,  but  only  moaned  piteous- 
ly,  and  begged  for  something  to  drink,  repeating  the  re- 
quest over  and  over  again,  as  if  the  torturing  thirst  over- 
powered every  other  feeling.  Now  Joscelyn  had  in  his 
wallet  a  small  flask  of  sack ;  this  he  contrived,  not  without 

21 


322 

great  pain  and  difficulty,  to  hold  to  Dick's  parched  lips,  and 
the  poor  fellow,  catching  at  it  eagerly,  drained  it  to  the  last 
drop.  After  some  time  this  seemed  to  revive  him  ;  strain- 
ing his  eyes  to  pierce  the  gloom  he  made  a  sudden  exclama- 
tion of  relief. 

"  Is  it  you,  Joscelyn  ?  Aye,  now  I  remember — you  tried 
to  save  me." 

"  And  made  but  a  bungling  piece  of  work  of  it,"  said 
Joscelyn,  faintly. 

"  You  are  wounded !"  cried  Dick,  shocked  at  the  change 
in  his  voice.  "  You  were  wounded  through  helping  me. 
Where  is  that  flask  ?  Did  you  let  me  take  all — all— when 
— when — your  need  was  as  great  ?" 

"  I  need  nothing  now  I  have  found  you,"  said  Joscelyn. 
But  the  words  seemed  to  die  away  from  his  lips,  and  Dick 
in  dreadful  self-reproach  bent  over  him,  shuddering  at  the 
deathly  cold  of  his  face  and  hands. 

"  I  knew  not  what  I  did,"  he  said.  "  Since  Sunday  we 
have  none  of  us  had  more  than  a  biscuit  a  day ;  I  was 
starving,  and — brute  that  I  am — thought  of  that  alone." 

"  I  tell  you  I  needed  it  not,"  said  Joscelyn,  rousing  him- 
self. "And  for  the  matter  of  that,"  he  added,  with  laughter 
in  his  voice,  "we  shall  soon  have  enough  to  drink  without 
the  trouble  of  stirring,  for  the  wind  is  blowing  up  for  rain." 

"  It  is  like  you  to  jest  while  you  are  dying,"  said  Dick. 

Joscelyn  was  silent ;  a  swift  pang  shot  through  his  heart 
as  he  thought  of  Clemency's  sorrow ;  but  he  was  too  much 
exhausted  to  feel  very  acutely,  and  just  lay  there  quietly, 
Dick's  hand  locked  fast  in  his.  For  a  long  time  there  had 
been  perfect  stillness,  and  in  the  darkness  they  could  not  tell 
whether  the  two  armies  still  confronted  each  other.  Sud- 
denly Dick  gave  a  violent  start. 

"  Good  Lord  !"  he  cried,  "  they  are  beginning  again  !" 

A  sharp  volley  of  small  shot  made  the  hills  echo ;  it  was 


"WITH    AGONY    HE   CRAWLED    UP   THE   STEEP    SLOPE." 


[Page  321 


323 

promptly  replied  to  by  another  volley,  and  Joscelyn  and 
Dick  wondered  whether  Waller  was  about  to  make  an  at- 
tempt to  force  the  King's  troops  from  the  brow  of  the  hill 
which  both  felt  confident  they  must  have  gained.  The 
thought  of  being  trampled  to  death  in  that  midnight  gloom 
was  not  inspiriting,  and  it  was  with  great  relief  that  they 
found  the  firing  was  not  resumed.  There  was  no  moon  that 
night,  and  heavy  clouds  veiled  the  stars ;  the  darkness  was 
absolute,  so  that  the  two  brothers  could  no  longer  even  faint- 
ly discern  each  other.  Presently  the  rain  which  Joscelyn 
had  foretold  came  pouring  down  on  them.  For  a  time 
both  were  refreshed  by  it,  and  were  able  to  talk  connected- 
ly, each  gathering  from  the  other  what  had  passed  since 
their  last  brief  meeting  at  Winchester.  Dick  asked  many 
questions  about  Whichcote,  and  listened  to  Joscelyn 's  de- 
scription of  his  stay  at  North  Cadbury  with  what  in  a  less 
lovable  nature  would  have  been  envy.  It  certainly  seemed 
to  him  that  a  rebel,  in  company  with  such  men  as  Hampden 
and  Whichcote  and  Sir  William  Waller,  and  with  such  a 
bride  as  Clemency  Coriton,  had  considerable  advantage 
over  most  Royalists,  and  that  there  were  some  compen- 
sations for  those  who  had  braved  opinion  and  taken  the 
unfashionable  side.  The  two  were  as  far  as  ever  from 
understanding  each  other's  standpoint ;  one  still  held  vig- 
orously to  the  duty  of  passive  obedience  in  the  subject,  the 
other  to  the  duty  of  active  resistance  of  evil  wherever  it  was 
found.  But  it  was  not  of  these  matters  that  they  now 
thought.  Zeal  for  the  King  and  zeal  for  the  country  had 
brought  them  into  the  shadow  of  death,  but  now,  having 
done  their  duty  according  to  their  lights,  they  thought  no 
more  of  the  strife,  but,  lying  there  on  the  trampled  turf, 
spoke  of  the  quiet,  undisturbed  past  at  Cambridge,  at  Lin- 
coln, at  Winchester,  and  at  Shortell. 

Just  before  the  dawn,  when  the  heavy  rain  had  ceased 


and  an  icy  chill  began  to  creep  over  them,  there  were  long 
silences  between  the  two.  Each  thought  the  end  was  not 
far  off,  but  had  faced  death  too  often  to  fear  it.  As  for 
Dick,  in  his  simple  fashion  he  took  great  comfort  in  being 
near  one  whom  he  had  always  recognized  as  being  strong- 
er and  better  than  himself,  and  finding  his  own  mind  all 
clouded  by  pain,  he  instinctively  turned  to  Joscelyn.  "  Say 
a  prayer  for  us,"  he  begged,  faintly.  "  I  can't  remember 
one." 

But  no  man  in  the  last  stage  of  exhaustion  is  capable  of 
very  great  concentration  of  thought.  Joscelyn  could  only 
murmur  the  first  sentence  of  that  "  Godly  prayer  to  be  said 
at  all  times,"  which  they  had  both  been  taught  in  childhood  : 
"  Honor  and  praise  be  given  to  Thee,  O  Lord  God  Al- 
mighty, most  dear  Father — "  and  there  his  powers  failed 
him.  Dick  waited,  but  there  was  only  silence,  and  once,  a 
little  later,  the  last  three  words  repeated  in  a  tone  scarcely 
audible.  Whether  sleep  or  death  or  faintness  had  over- 
powered his  brother  he  could  not  tell. 

The  next  thing  he  knew  was  that  the  dreadful  darkness 
had  ended ;  he  opened  his  eyes  to  see  in  the  clear  light  of 
early  morning  the  kindly  face  of  his  leader,  Sir  Ralph  Hop- 
ton,  bending  over  him.  The  general  knew  the  story  of  the 
Heyworths,  and  turning  to  the  officer  accompanying  him 
round  the  field  to  visit  the  wounded,  he  drew  his  attention 
to  Joscelyn. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  must  be  the  officer  that  we  saw  cut  off 
by  Sir  BeviPs  pikemen  while  attempting  to  save  a  comrade. 
'Twas  his  foe  he  tried  to  save,  but  they  are  brothers." 

Then  seeing  that  Dick  was  conscious,  he  spoke  to  him 
very  kindly,  promising  aid  as  soon  as  it  could  be  procured, 
and  giving  his  word  that  Joscelyn  should  also  have  every 
attention. 

"  What  of  the  battle,  sir  ?"  asked  Dick. 


325 

Hopton's  noble  face  clouded.  "We  have  gained  the 
heights  of  Lansdown,"  he  said,  "  and  lost  Sir  Bevil  Gran- 
ville — they  have  borne  him  dying  to  Cold  Ashton  Vicarage. 
As  for  Waller,  though  he  has  fallen  back  upon  Bath,  he 
will  certainly  be  strong  enough  to  harass  us  greatly  in  the 
inarch  upon  Oxford,  and  God  knows  we  are  but  weak. 
There  must  have  fallen  on  our  side  at  least  fourteen  hun- 
dred in  yesterday's  fight,  and  the  rebels  have  also  suffered 
severely.  May  God  grant  us  a  speedy  peace  !" 

He  moved  on  to  visit  others  upon  the  battle-field,  and 
Dick  lay  longing  for  the  promised  aid,  and  trying  to  find 
some  comfort  in  the  assurance  that  the  hand  still  clasped 
in  his  was  not  yet  the  hand  of  a  dead  man.  Suddenly  he 
was  startled  by  the  sound  of  a  terrible  explosion,  which 
shook  the  ground,  and  forgetting  his  wound  in  the  excite- 
ment he  started  up,  only  to  fall  back  once  more  in  a  dead 
swoon.  It  appeared  that  a  wagon  containing  eight  barrels 
of  powder  had  accidentally  exploded,  both  Sir  Ralph  Hop- 
ton  and  Major  Sheldon  being  grievously  wounded  and  many 
others  killed.  Dick  learned  the  particulars  later  on  when  he 
once  more  returned  to  himself  and  found  that  he  had  been 
carried  to  a  cottage  at  Marshfield,  and  that  Jervis,  with 
more  good  feeling  than  he  had  ever  before  evinced,  was 
standing  by  while  a  surgeon  dressed  his  wound. 

"  Where  is  Joscelyn  ?"  he  asked,  looking  round  anxious- 
ly. "  Sir  Ralph  promised  he  should  be  brought  off  the  field." 

Jervis  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of  indifference 
that  almost  maddened  Dick. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  cried,  "he  was  piked  through  the  body 
in  trying  to  save  me !"  And  with  more  energy  than  the 
surgeon  at  all  approved  of  he  recounted  what  had  passed 
on  the  battle-field. 

"  'Twas  gallantly  done,"  said  Jervis,  his  manner  changing. 
"  Joscelyn  is,  after  all,  a  Hey  worth." 


326 

Going  out  into  the  village,  he  made  inquiries  of  the  men 
who  had  borne  Dick  from  Lansdovvn,  and  learned  that 
they  had  noticed  a  young  Parliament  officer  close  beside 
him  there ;  whether  he  was  dead  or  unconscious  they  could 
not  tell,  but  they  had  been  forced  to  unclasp  his  ringers,  so 
rigidly  were  they  closed  on  the  other's  hand. 

"  I  will  ride  back  to  the  field  and  search  for  him,"  said 
Arthur  Denham,  who  had  overheard  the  conversation. 

Jervis  hesitated  for  a  moment,  not  because  of  the  possi- 
ble danger,  but  because  his  better  self  struggled  with  the 
contemptuous  hatred  he  had  long  felt  for  his  brother.  In 
the  end  the  better  nature  conquered,  and,  hastily  mounting 
his  horse,  he  rode  away  with  Denham  and  one  of  the  sol- 
diers who  professed  to  know  the  exact  spot  where  Dick  had 
lain.  The  effort,  however,  proved  of  no  avail ;  they  searched 
the  hill-side  in  all  directions,  they  made  inquiries  at  the 
Hamswell  House,  where  many  wounded  Parliamentarians 
had  been  carried,  but  Joscelyn  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Oh,  might  we  know  i  for  sore  we  feel 

The  languor  of  delay, 
When  sickness  lets  our  fainter  zeal 

Or  foes  block  up  our  way. 

Lord !  who  Thy  thousand  years  dost  wait 

To  work  the  thousandth  part 
Of  Thy  vast  plan,  for  us  create 

With  zeal  a  patient  heart. 

— J.  H.  NEWMAN. 

WHEN  Joscelyn  came  to  himself  that  morning  and  found 
that  Dick  had  been  borne  away  from  the  field,  he  made  sure 
that  his  brother  was  dead.  But  he  was  suffering  such  an 
agony  of  pain  that  he  could  only  feel  relief  at  the  thought 
that  Dick  was  out  of  the  strife,  and  strong  desire  for  his 
own  release.  Had  it  not  been  for  Jack  Morrison's  energy 
and  faithfulness  he  certainly  would  have  died,  but  Morri- 
son had  no  sooner  seen  the  departure  of  the  Royalists  than 
he  hastened  to  the  battle-field,  and  with  the  help  of  a  sturdy 
farm  laborer  whose  services  he  had  secured  he  found  his 
master,  and  bore  him  across  the  down  to  the  little  Chapel 
Farm,  once  a  rest-house  for  pilgrims  to  Glastonbury.  Here 
Joscelyn  was  able  to  have  his  wound  dressed  in  a  rough 
fashion.  The  farm  was  already  crowded  with  wounded 
men,  and  he  thought  himself  fortunate  to  secure  one  of  the 
stone  benches  in  the  porch,  and  the  rough  but  effective 
handling  of  a  barber-surgeon  from  Bath.  The  farmer's 
daughter  brought  him  a  tankard  of  home-brewed  ale,  and 
a  little  shock-headed  boy  crept  up  to  him  and  thrust  into 
his  hand  a  great  slice  of  black  bread,  looking  down  with  a 


328 

sort  of  fascination  at  his  buff  coat  all  soaked  with  blood, 
and  furtively  touching  the  armor  which  Morrison  had  re- 
moved to  the  farther  corner  of  the  porch.  The  food  grad- 
ually revived  him,  and  as  he  gained  a  firmer  hold  on  life  his 
craving  for  Clemency's  presence  gradually  overpowered  all 
other  feelings.  He  was  dying,  but  he  would,  at  any  rate, 
die  at  Gloucester.  He  turned  to  his  servant. 

"  What  of  Hotspur  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Galloped  riderless  into  the  ranks  last  night,  sir,"  said 
Morrison.  "  He  was  safely  secured,  and  I  stabled  him  in 
a  barn  here." 

"  Saddle  him,"  said  Joscelyn.    "  I  am  going  to  Gloucester." 

Finding  remonstrances  of  no  use,  Morrison  obeyed,  leav- 
ing the  surgeon  and  the  farmer  to  argue  with  his  master. 

"  Well,"  said  the  farmer,  finding  he  could  not  prevail,  "  as 
you  zay,  zir,  a  man  can  but  die  once,  and  if  zo  be  as  you're 
zet  on  it,  why,  you  had  better  go  by  the  Avon  to  Bristol. 
There  be  a  kinsman  of  mine  down  yonder  at  Kelweston 
with  a  boat,  and  he'll  pull  you  there  before  night  if  you'll 
give  him  zummat  for  the  job." 

In  the  end  the  good  man  arranged  to  walk  with  them  to 
Kelweston,  and  to  bring  back  the  horses  to  the  Chapel 
Farm,  where  they  were  to  be  stabled  for  the  present. 
Whether  Joscelyn  would  ever  again  need  Hotspur's  services 
seemed  doubtful.  Indeed,  as  they  rode  down  the  long  hill 
to  the  river,  Morrison  more  than  once  thought  he  would 
have  dropped  dead  from  the  saddle,  and  it  was  with  many 
dark  forebodings  that  the  old  farmer  parted  with  him,  hav- 
ing seen  him  safely  embarked  for  Bristol.  The  comparative 
ease  of  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  soon,  however,  re- 
vived him.  He  began  to  hear  the  talk  between  Morrison 
and  the  two  boatmen. 

"What  makes  un  zo  zet  on  reachin'  Gloucester?"  said 
one. 


3^9 

"Humph!"  grunted  the  other,  with  an  indescribable 
ejaculation.  "  Tis  a  vench,  I  dare  zwear." 

"In  truth,  you're  not  far  wrong,"  said  Morrison  ;  "  there 
is  to  be  a  wedding  there  anon." 

"  Wedding !"  exclaimed  the  gruff  old  boatman ;  "  more 
like  to  be  a  burial !  Do  you  zee  yon  ztream  flowing  into 
river  ?  Well,  there  be  a  place  there  called  Wedding ,  for  a 
while  ago  a  bride  was  a-going  to  be  married,  when  zhe  and 
all  her  coompany  were  turned  into  ztones.  And  there  they 
ztand  to  this  day,  high  and  mighty  ztones,  all  in  a  zircle." 

This  curious  old  tradition  haunted  Joscelyn  for  the  rest 
of  the  weary  journey.  Arrived  at  Bristol,  he  was  trans- 
ferred to  another  boat,  and  after  a  wearisome  delay  on  ac- 
count of  the  tide,  he  at  last  found  himself  going  up  the 
Severn,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  the  gabled  house  which 
he  had  set  his  heart  on  reaching.  Yet  when  they  reached 
the  landing-stage  at  Gloucester,  and  he  heard  Morrison 
sending  a  messenger  to  warn  Mr.  Bennett  of  their  arrival, 
he  felt  as  if  the  old  story  were  about  to  repeat  itself,  and 
that  this  time  a  bridegroom  would  be  turned  to  stone.  One 
sob  of  agony  escaped  him  as  the  men  lifted  him  from  the 
boat,  but  the  pain  and  exhaustion  dulled  his  senses  as  he 
was  borne  through  the  streets,  and  his  mind  became  entire- 
ly occupied  with  the  one  dogged  resolution  that  he  would 
not  let  himself  die  till  he  had  seen  Clemency. 

.And  now  at  last  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  cathedral. 
Christopher  Bennett  and  a  surgeon  came  hurrying  to  meet 
him.  His  cold  lips  could  not  frame  themselves  to  answer 
their  questions.  He  saw  the  ivy-covered  house,  the  narrow 
entrance-lobby ;  he  saw  Faith  eagerly  welcoming  him,  and 
holding  to  his  lips  some  strong  cordial,  with  the  assurance 
that  he  must  take  it  before  being  brought  up-stairs. 

"  Clemency  ?"  he  faltered,  looking  round  with  question- 
ing eyes  and  a  stifling  sense  of  terror,  as  the  thought 


330 

crossed  his  mind  that,  after  all,  she  might  have  left  Glouces- 
ter. 

"  She  is  above  with  Charlotte  preparing  your  room,"  said 
Faith. 

He  signed  to  his  bearers  to  move  on ;  but  the  ascent  of 
the  steep  stairs  proved  so  torturing  to  him  that  his  ex- 
hausted powers  utterly  gave  way,  and  in  the  very  moment 
of  attaining  his  wish  he  lost  consciousness,  darkness  hem- 
ming him  in  just  as  Clemency  drew  near  to  greet  him.  As 
if  from  a  great  distance  he  heard  her  sweet  firm  voice  say- 
ing to  the  bearers, 

"  Put  him  down  here — gently — very  gently." 

Then  for  many  hours  he  lay  like  one  dead,  while  the  best 
surgeons  that  Gloucester  could  furnish  did  their  utmost  for 
him. 

The  surgery  was  rough,  but  Clemency  and  Charlotte  were 
born  nurses ;  and  Joscelyn,  being  blessed  with  a  fine  consti- 
tution, struggled  through.  Once  or  twice  during  the  night 
he  seemed  to  see  the  faces  of  the  watchers  about  his  bed, 
but  his  fevered  brain  realized  nothing  clearly.  His  first 
true  sight  of  Clemency  was  early  the  next  morning,  when, 
after  an  interval  of  uneasy  sleep,  he  woke  to  find  the  room 
all  golden  red  with  the  glow  of  sunrise.  The  window  looked 
towards  the  east,  and  Clemency  knelt  there,  after  the  cus^ 
torn  of  Daniel,  the  mellow  light  making  a  glory  of  her  chest- 
nut hair,  and  softening  the  pallor  and  weariness  of  her  face. 
The  night  had  been  full  of  terrible  anxiety,  but  this  glori- 
ous dawn  of  day  had  filled  her  with  hope ;  and  Joscelyn, 
in  dreamy  content,  thought  it  heaven  itself  just  to  lie  there 
in  perfect  stillness  watching  her. 

When,  by-and-by,  she  rose  quietly  and  stole  across  to  the 
bedside,  that  strange  unearthly  calm  was  still  unbroken ; 
they  met  with  a  peaceful  rapture,  a  fulness  of  joy,  which 
seemed  like  a  foretaste  of  the  Day  of  Resurrection. 


"  You  did  well  to  come  to  Gloucester,"  said  the  shrewd 
old  surgeon  a  day  or  two  later.  "  The  journey  would  have 
killed  most  men,  but  I  doubt  if  any  one  but  Mistress  Clem- 
ency could  have  brought  you  round." 

Clemency's  sweet  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure  at  the 
old  man's  words,  a  delicate  color  mantled  her  cheeks ;  it 
seemed  to  her  that  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  given 
up  her  diamonds  she  had  been  able  in  some  direct  way  to 
serve  the  country,  and  this  was  a  way  so  entirely  after  her 
own  heart ! 

But  she  never  realized  that  it  was  not  only  by  her  good 
nursing  and  loving  care  that  she  was  able  to  save  her  lover, 
never  knew  how  those  weeks  of  close  companionship  res- 
cued him  from  the  bitterness  and  wrath  and  hatred  that 
had  been  stirred  up  in  his  heart  by  the  treachery  of  Colo- 
nel Hurry  and  the  conduct  of  the  King.  Whichcote's  words 
had  begun  the  work  of  healing,  the  attempt  to  save  Dick 
had  carried  it  on,  but  it  was  left  to  Clemency  to  complete 
the  cure,  and  to  keep  her  betrothed  from  falling  a  victim 
to  that  sourness  of  temper  which  marred  too  many  of  the 
Puritans,  and  which  had  threatened  in  the  time  of  his  grief 
to  cast  a  shadow  over  Joscelyn's  career. 

Spite  of  all  the  bodily  suffering,  spite  even  of  his  great 
sorrow  for  Dick — a  sorrow  which  naturally  increased  as  his 
hold  on  life  grew  stronger — there  was  much  of  exquisite 
happiness  in  those  days  of  his  illness. 

One  afternoon,  about  the  middle  of  July,  Clemency  was 
sitting  by  the  bedside,  fair  and  fresh  in  her  white  gown, 
holding  in  her  hand  a  tiny  volume  bound  in  undressed 
leather  and  tied  with  strings  ;  it  was  Warwick's  Spare  Min- 
utes, and  at  times  she  read  a  few  sentences,  at  times  paused 
to  talk  to  the  invalid. 

"  Here  is  a  piece  all  about  robins,"  she  exclaimed,  a 
smile  playing  about  her  lips.  "  Do  you  remember  how,  on 


332 

the  day  of  our  betrothal,  we  heard  them  singing  in  the  lit- 
tle wood  ?" 

"  As  we  .sat  under  the  yew-tree  on  the  moss-grown  bank," 
said  Joscelyn.  "  How  many  thousand  times  have  I  not  lived 
it  all  over  again  !" 

"  Then  hark  to  what  he  says  about  them,"  said  Clemency, 
and  she  read  the  following  lines :  "  *  As  oft  as  I  hear  the 
robin-redbreast  chant  it  as  cheerfully  in  September,  the  be- 
ginning of  winter,  as  in  March,  the  approach  of  the  sum- 
mer, why  should  not  we  (think  I)  give  as  cheerful  entertain- 
ment to  the  hoary,  frosty  hairs  of  our  age's  winter  as  to  the 
primroses  of  our  youth's  spring  ?  Why  not  to  the  declining 
sun  in  adversity  as  (like  Persians)  to  the  rising  sun  of  pros- 
perity ?  I  am  sent  to  the  ant  to  learn  industry ;  to  the  dove 
to  learn  innocency ;  to  the  serpent  to  learn  wisdom ;  and 
why  not  to  this  bird  to  learn  equanimity  and  patience,  and 
to  keep  the  same  tenor  of  my  mind's  quietness  as  well  at 
the  approach  of  calamity's  winter  as  of  the  spring  of  happi- 
ness ?  And,  since  the  Roman's  constancy  is  so  commended, 
who  changed  not  his  countenance  with  his  changed  fort- 
unes, why  should  not  I,  with  a  Christian  resolution,  hold  a 
steady  course  in  all  weathers,  and  though  I  be  forced  with 
cross  winds  to  shift  my  sails  and  catch  at  side  winds,  yet 
skilfully  to  steer,  and  keep  on  my  course  by  the  "  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,"  till  I  arrive  at  the  haven  of  eternal  happi- 
ness ?' "  As  she  ended  the  page  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  Christopher  Bennett  entered. 

"  I  have  unlooked-for  news  to  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  Sir 
William  Waller  is  below,  and  would  fain  speak  with  you." 

Joscelyn  was  so  astounded  by  these  tidings  that  he  scarce- 
ly knew  whether  the  general's  presence  boded  good  or  ill, 
but  as  Waller  entered  the  room,  one  glance  at  his  worn, 
harassed  face  told  him  that  some  terrible  disaster  must 
have  happened. 


333 

Greeting  Clemency  with  the  chivalrous  courtesy  which 
he  invariably  showed  to  women,  he  approached  the  bed, 
his  face  brightening  as  he  looked  down  at  the  wounded 
man. 

"  Come  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  seem  better  than  I  had 
dared  to  hope.  In  fact,  we  had  given  you  up  for  lost  when 
we  learned  in  what  a  plight  you  had  left  the  Chapel  Farm 
on  Lansdown.  This  is  one  gleam  of  good-fortune  to  cheer 
us  in  our  great  gloom." 

"You  have  been  defeated,  sir?"  asked  Joscelyn,  hardly 
able  to  believe  that  the  Conqueror  had  at  last  met  his  match. 

"  Hopelessly  defeated  at  Roundway  Down,"  said  Waller, 
his  face  darkening ;  "  our  foot  mostly  made  prisoners,  our 
horse  destroyed  and  scattered." 

"  What !  Sir  Arthur  Hazlerigg's  regiment  ?"  cried  Josce- 
lyn. "  Thty  that  struck  such  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the 
Cavaliers  but  a  few  days  since  ?" 

"We  deemed  them  well-nigh  invincible,"  said  Waller, 
"  and  with  over-great  ardor  and  rashness  charged  right  up 
the  steep  hill-side,  where  never  horse  set  foot  before.  It 
was  a  miserable  mistake.  They  were  repulsed,  and  you 
may  thank  the  Lord  you  were  not  there  to  see  that  noble 
band  driven  down  headlong  to  their  destruction.  'Twill 
haunt  me  to  my  last  day.  But  this  is  no  talk  for  a  sick- 
room. There  rallied  round  me  the  poor  remnant  of  the 
cavalry,  and  we  retreated  as  best  might  be  to  Bristol.  Ha- 
zlerigg  lies  desperately  wounded,  and  I  am  making  all 
speed  to  London  by  the  only  route  now  open  to  us,  through 
Gloucester,  Warwick,  and  Newport  Pagnell." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  Sir  Ralph  Hopton  was  strong  enough 
for  this  when  his  army  had  been  shattered  on  Lansdown  ?" 
said  Joscelyn,  listening,  pale  and  breathless,  to  Waller's 
story. 

"  Nay,  Hopton  was  cooped  up  in  Devizes,"  said  Sir  Will- 


334 

iam,  "  and  we  had  made  sure  of  taking  the  town,  having 
defeated  the  first  relief  sent  there  from  Oxford  under  my 
Lord  Crawford ;  but  a  large  new  force  was  sent  from  Ox- 
ford under  Wilmot,  and  they  have  annihilated  our  army." 

"  What  was  my  Lord  Essex  about  that  he  did  not  stir  to 
aid  you,  sir  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  He  was  lying  within  ten  miles  of  Oxford  with  his  whole 
army,"  said  Waller,  bitterly,  "yet  suffered  the  entire  strength 
of  that  place  to  march  thirty  miles  to  our  destruction  with- 
out so  much  as  sending  out  a  party  to  follow  them,  or  to 
alarm  Oxford,  by  which  they  would  have  been  recalled. 
But  Mistress  Clemency  will  not  forgive  me  if  I  stay  here 
agitating  you  thus.  The  times  are  dark,  but  we  must  not 
despair.  I  haste  to  London  to  try  to  raise  new  troops. 
By-the-bye,  I  have  with  me  a  prisoner,  taken  at  Devizes, 
your  quondam  jailer,  Captain  Denham.  He  might  easily 
enough  have  given  us  the  slip  the  other  day  in  the  confu- 
sion, but  he  was  on  parole,  and  I  thought,  instead  of  leav- 
ing him  at  Bristol  with  the  other  officers  taken  the  same 
day,  to  carry  him  to  London  to  arrange  for  his  ransom  or 
exchange.  Methinks,  however,  one  good  turn  deserves  an- 
other, and  that  we  shall  perchance  save  him  still  better 
from  discomfort  if  we  permit  him  to  remain  here  in  Glouces- 
ter ;  his  case  runs  less  risk  of  being  forgotten." 

In  the  end  it  was  arranged  that  Arthur  Denham  should 
remain  under  the  charge  of  Mr.  Bennett,  a  prisoner  on  pa- 
role, contributing  the  usual  sum  for  his  keep,  and  Joscelyn 
eagerly  welcomed  him,  hoping  to  gain  the  details  of  Dick's 
end. 

The  young  Royalist  was  naturally  in  excellent  spirits ; 
his  party  was  triumphing  all  over  the  country;  through 
Waller's  courtesy  he  was  likely  to  have  an  easy  time  of  it 
as  prisoner;  and,  besides,  he  was  genuinely  delighted  to 
meet  with  Joscelyn. 


335 

"This  is  indeed  unlocked  for,"  he  said,  grasping  the 
wounded  man's  hand.  "  I  would  that  we  had  any  means 
of  letting  your  brother  know  that  you  still  live." 

"Jervis  will  care  little  enough  whether  I  am  dead  or 
alive,"  said  Joscelyn. 

"  Nay,  there  you  wrong  him,"  said  Denham,  "  for  I  rode 
back  with  him  from  Marshfield  to  Lansdown  on  purpose  to 
search  for  you." 

"  He  did  that  for  me !"  cried  Joscelyn,  in  astonishment. 
"  I  had  not  thought  it  of  him.  Well,  he  and  I  are  the  only 
ones  left  now.  Belike  'twas  that  softened  him." 

"  He  was  moved  by  your  gallant  effort  to  rescue  Dick," 
said  Denham,  "  and  partly  maybe  because  Dick  was  in 
such  grief  that  you  had  not  been  borne  with  him  to  Marsh- 
field." 

"  Dick  lived  to  reach  Marshfield  ?"  cried  Joscelyn,  start- 
ing up  with  eager  hope. 

Clemency,  much  alarmed  at  his  excitement,  hastened  to 
soothe  him.  "Tell  him  quickly,  sir;  does  Dick  yet  live  ?" 
she  cried.  "  We  deemed  him  dead." 

"  As  far  as  I  know,  he  lives,"  said  Denham.  "  He  was 
doing  well  when  we  left  Marshfield,  and  he  was  in  a  farm- 
house where  the  good  folk  promised  to  take  excellent  care 
of  him.  What !  You  had  given  him  up  ?  Yes,  yes ;  I  see. 
He  was  borne  away  soon  after  the  explosion  that  maimed 
Sir  Ralph  and  has  proved  the  death  of  Major  Sheldon ; 
you  were  both  of  you  unconscious.  'Twas  natural  enough 
you  should  think  his  wound  had  proved  mortal." 

Joscelyn  could  not  speak ;  for  some  time  he  lay  with 
closed  eyes,  fearfully  exhausted  by  this  sudden  and  bewil- 
dering relief  from  a  sorrow  that  had  been  daily  increasing  in 
weight.  By-and-by  he  looked  up  at  Clemency  with  a  smile. 

"  Dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  you  were  right  in  bidding  me  to 
keep  on  my  course  'by  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.'  " 


336 

Joscelyn  had  just  left  his  room  for  the  first  time  when 
the  news  reached  Gloucester  that  Bristol  was  besieged  by 
Prince  Rupert.  A  few  days  later  they  learned  that  the 
governor,  Colonel  Nathaniel  Fiennes,  after  enduring  the 
most  violent  assault,  had  sent  out  to  offer  a  surrender  be- 
fore, in  the  opinion  of  many,  surrender  was  absolutely  nec- 
essary, and  the  hearts  of  all  in  Gloucester  sank. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  that  Christopher  Bennett 
brought  the  ill  tidings ;  Clemency  and  Faith  sat  with  their 
needle -work  in  the  withdrawing -room,  while  Joscelyn, 
propped  up  in  an  arm-chair,  was  playing  a  game  of  chess 
with  Denham,  and  looking,  as  Faith  laughingly  remarked, 
much  like  a  gay  garment  that  had  lost  its  color  in  the 
wash.  He  turned  a  shade  paler  when  he  learned  that  Bris- 
tol, the  second  city  in  the  kingdom,  had  surrendered. 

"All  men  blame  Colonel  Fiennes,"  said  Christopher  Ben- 
nett, "  and  if  I  mistake  not  he  will  be  called  to  account  for 
what  seems  much  like  cowardice." 

"  Nay,  there  you  wrong  him,"  cried  Joscelyn ;  "  no  one 
who  had  served  with  him  could  doubt  his  courage.  I  will 
never  believe  that  it  was  more  than  an  error  of  judgment. 
Ignorant  of  military  matters  he  doubtless  may  have  been, 
but  false  to  his  trust,  never.  What  were  the  terms  of  the 
surrender  ?" 

"  They  were  reasonable  enough,  but  they  were  not  ob- 
served," said  Mr.  Bennett.  "  Every  house  on  the  bridge 
was  plundered,  and  shameful  excesses  perpetrated  by  the 
soldiers  —  much  against  the  wish  of  Prince  Rupert,  'tis 
said." 

11  Our  own  soldiers  were  not  blameless  when  they  took 
Reading,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  if  report  speaks  truth ;  though 
'twas  not  so  bad  as  this  that  you  tell  of  Bristol.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  Parliament  will  deal  more  generously  with 
Colonel  Fiennes  than  the  King  did  with  the  unlucky  Gov- 


337 

ernor  of  Reading.  For  my  part,  I  would  put  more  trust  in 
the  honor  of  Colonel  Fiennes  than  in  the  honor  of  your 
Governor  Massey,  though  doubtless  Massey  is  the  better 
soldier." 

"  We  shall  soon  make  full  proof  of  his  qualities,"  said 
Christopher  Bennett,  with  a  sigh,  "for,  by  fair  means  or 
foul,  Gloucester  will  now  most  surely  be  attempted." 

Arthur  Denham  looked  from  one  to  another  of  those 
present.  Utter  panic  was  plainly  shown  in  Faith's  pretty 
face ;  Clemency's  lips  quivered,  and  her  hazel  eyes  grew 
bright  with  unshed  tears  as  she  glanced  towards  her  lover, 
evidently  thinking  how  little  he  was  fitted  to  bear  the  hard- 
ships of  a  siege ;  gloom  and  anxiety  clouded  Christopher 
Bennett's  honest  brow.  The  young  Cavalier  looked  across 
the  chess-board  at  his  antagonist,  fully  understanding  Clem- 
ency's fears.  But  he  found  that  the  man  who  had  so  lately 
been  at  death's  door  was  precisely  the  one  who  was  ready 
to  face  death  a  second  time  with  intrepid  front.  Joscelyn's 
languid,  exhausted  look  had  entirely  changed ;  his  face  was 
aglow,  his  eyes  full  of  steady  purpose ;  he  turned  to  Clem- 
ency with  a  glad  smile,  which  she  never  forgot,  and  ex- 
claimed, 

"  Sweetheart,  'tis  through  you  that  I  am  healed  in  time 
to  serve  !"  It  was  the  same  contagious  calmness  which  had 
nerved  her  failing  heart  on  the  night  of  the  attack  at  Kat- 
terham,  and  she  came  now  and  stood  beside  him,  stooping 
to  kiss  his  forehead,  glad  to  feel  his  strong  arm  encircling 
her,  and  utterly  ignoring  the  presence  of  the  others. 

Denham  discreetly  became  absorbed  in  his  next  move, 
and  the  next  minute  the  sound  of  a  rebec  playing  the  Hun- 
dredth Psalm  made  the  two  lovers  conscious  of  the  outer 
world. 

"  Tis  Temperance  Turner !"  cried  Clemency,  and,  run- 
ning down-stairs,  she  returned  with  shining  eyes,  bearing 

22 


338 

two  letters  from  Katterham  and  one  from  Rosamond  at 
Shortell,  which  Denham  regarded  jealously. 

The  letters,  though  they  brought  good  accounts,  caused 
no  little  perplexity ;  Sir  Robert  Neal,  writing  directly  the 
news  of  Waller's  defeat  had  reached  him,  strongly  urged 
the  advisability  of  Clemency's  marriage  at  the  next  oppor- 
tunity, and  his  words  naturally  chimed  in  with  the  wishes 
of  Joscelyn.  Still,  in  that  desperate  time  of  danger  and 
uncertainty  there  were  many  reasons  which  made  an  hon- 
orable man  hesitate  before  binding  another  to  his  fate. 
Sitting  by  the  open  window  on  that  July  evening,  watching 
the  light  as  it  fell  on  the  pinnacles  and  gilded  the  old  ca- 
thedral walls,  the  two  lovers  quietly  talked  out  the  whole 
matter,  while  Faith  and  her  husband  went  to  visit  Alder- 
man Pury,  the  leading  spirit  among  the  Independents  of 
the  city,  and  Denham  amused  himself  in  the  oak  parlor  by 
writing  a  letter  to  his  child-love  at  Shortell. 

"  Tis  true,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  that  Sir  Robert  urges  the 
unsettled  times  and  the  dark  prospects  of  the  Parliamenta- 
rians as  one  reason  for  wishing  our  marriage  to  take  place 
at  once.  He  spoke  of  it  when  I  saw  him  a  month  ago. 
But  the  question  is,  does  he  fully  realize  how  dark  our  fut- 
ure seems  ?  And  do  you,  dear  heart,  truly  desire  to  link 
your  fortunes  irrevocably  with  one  as  deeply  compromised 
as  I  am  ?" 

"Do  you  think,"  said  Clemency,  smiling  reproachfully, 
"  that  I  am,  as  some  folks  say  Governor  Massey  is,  desir- 
ous only  to  stand  with  those  who  succeed  ?" 

"  'Tis  no  mere  question  of  success  or  failure  in  battle," 
said  Joscelyn.  "  If  Gloucester  falls  now  all  men  think  that 
the  utter  ruin  of  the  Parliament  cause  must  follow.  That 
for  me  means  poverty,  exile,  or  imprisonment,  or  even  may- 
be worse.  Do  you  do  wisely  to  take  as  husband  one  who 
may  as  likely  as  not  end  his  life  on  the  gallows  ?" 


339 

Clemency  shuddered,  yet  the  terrible  words  only  made 
her  cling  to  him  the  more  closely. 

"  Tis  unlike  you  to  think  of  failure,"  she  said.  "  Why 
dwell  on  the  dark  side  ?" 

"  For  your  sake,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  lest  through  my  very 
love  for  you  I  mar  your  life.  Mr.  Bennett  does  not  deem 
it  possible  that  you  and  your  sister  should  travel  speedily 
to  Katterham  while  things  are  in  their  present  state,  or  that 
might  prove  the  safest  plan  for  you." 

"  What !"  cried  Clemency.  "  Would  you  have  me  leave 
you  here  with  your  wound  but  half  healed  and  the  enemy 
at  the  gates  ?  That  would  be  to  expose  me  to  miseries  far 
worse  than  in  the  longest  siege.  We  women  are  not  chat- 
tels of  value  to  be  stored  in  safe  hiding-place.  If  you  and 
I  may  not  be  friends  and  helpmates  to  each  other,  I  will 
never  wed  you." 

Joscelyn's  grave,  thoughtful  expression  remained  un- 
changed. He  seemed  to  be  holding  himself  in  check,  to 
be  incased  in  armor  which  she  could  not  penetrate. 

"  Even,"  he  said,  "  if  Massey  is  true  to  us,  if  there  lurked 
no  hint  in  that  reply  of  his  last  spring  to  Prince  Rupert 
that  he  would  never  yield  to  a  foreign  prince — even  if  one 
could  put  strong  confidence  in  a  man  who  avows  himself 
a  soldier  of  fortune  rather  than  one  who  acts  on  principle — 
you  must  remember  that  Gloucester  is  ill  prepared  for  a 
siege.  The  powder  is  scarce,  the  fortifications  miserably 
defective,  the  garrison  is  small  and  dispirited,  and  many  of 
the  citizens  are  on  the  enemy's  side.  I  have  heard  folks 
say  it  could  not  hold  out  for  a  couple  of  days." 

"  Then,"  said  Clemency,  her  hazel  eyes  looking  fearlessly 
into  his,  "  for  those  days,  my  beloved,  we  shall  be  together, 
and  afterwards — let  come  what  may." 

At  this  his  armor  fell  from  him ;  he  caught  her  to  his 
breast.  "  Have  I  not  skilfully  played  the  advocate  against 


340 

myself,  dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  rivalling  a  lawyer  in  his  bar- 
gown  ?  Now,  be  both  judge  and  jury,  and  let  me  hear  your 
verdict.  Is  it  meet  that  you  should  wed  this  rebel,  who 
already  hath  been  piked  through  the  body,  and  may  likely 
enough  be  one  day  quartered  ?  If  you  return  a  verdict  in 
his  favor,  name  the  day  for  his  happiness  to  begin." 

"  We  need  no  bride-laces  or  bride-cakes  or  fine  array," 
said  Clemency,  her  color  deepening.  "  Let  it  be  as  soon 
as  we  can  find  a  minister  to  read  the  service.  How  I  wish 
that  it  could  be  your  former  tutor,  Mr.  Whichcote  !" 

And  in  the  end  this  was  arranged.  Morrison  set  off  the 
next  day  for  Bath  to  fetch  the  horses  from  Lansdown, 
learned  at  Marshfield  that  Dick  had  recovered  and  had 
left  the  farm-house,  and  then  rode  on  to  North  Cadbury, 
bearing  a  letter  with  his  master's  request.  Whichcote 
gladly  consented  to  come  to  the  marriage  of  his  old  pupil, 
and  on  Thursday,  the  3d  of  August,  he  rode  into  Glouces- 
ter, to  the  great  delight  of  the  household  in  College  Green. 
Could  they  but  have  glanced  at  the  council  of  war  being 
held  at  that  very  time  by  the  Royalists  at  Bristol,  they 
would  have  learned  that  the  siege  of  Gloucester  had  been 
definitely  decided  upon,  a  messenger  having  just  arrived 
with  a  secret  message  from  Massey  that  he  wished  the 
King  well ;  that  if  Prince  Rupert  brought  an  army  against 
Gloucester  he  would  defend  it,  but  that  if  the  King  himself 
came  with  his  army,  he  would  not  hold  out  against  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Beloved,  let  us  love  so  well, 
Our  work  shall  still  be  better  for  our  love, 
And  still  our  love  be  sweeter  for  our  work  ! 
And  both  commended  for  the  sake  of  each 
By  all  true  workers  and  true  lovers  born. 

— E.  B.  BROWNING. 

ON  the  morning  of  Saturday,  the  5th  of  August,  the  little 
wedding -party  were  just  assembled  in  the  withdrawing- 
room,  and  were  about  to  cross  over  to  the  cathedral,  when 
Christopher  Bennett  received  an  earnest  message  from  Al- 
derman Pury,  begging  him  to  repair  instantly  to  the  house 
where  the  Common  Council  was  held,  as  intelligence  had 
been  brought  during  the  previous  night  that  the  King  in- 
tended to  march  at  once  upon  Gloucester.  All  looked 
compassionately  at  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  but  they, 
having  thoroughly  prepared  beforehand  for  the  worst,  were 
less  moved  than  the  others. 

"  Must  you  indeed  go  ?"  asked  Clemency.  "  The  service 
will  be  but  short." 

Faith  turned  away  to  hide  her  tears,  while  Whichcote 
suggested  that  the  ceremony  might  be  postponed  for  an 
hour,  his  kindly  eyes  travelling  with  some  little  anxiety  to 
his  old  pupil,  who  certainly  looked  as  little  like  a  bride- 
groom as  could  well  be.  The  hollow  cheeks,  alternately 
pale  and  flushed,  the  eyes  looking  unnaturally  large  and 
bright,  told  plainly  that  Waller's  young  officer  had  seen 
active  service.  He  had,  moreover,  insisted  on  retaining 
the  mourning-badge  which  he  had  put  on  at  the  time  of 


342 

Hampden's  death ;  and  Clemency,  in  her  quiet  gray  velvet 
gown  and  hood,  wore  nothing  more  festive  than  a  cluster  of 
York  and  Lancaster  roses,  which  Joscelyn  had  picked  for 
her  in  the  garden  the  evening  before,  for  reasons  which  they 
alone  understood. 

To  pass  the  time  till  her  husband's  return,  Faith  suggest- 
ed that  Joscelyn  and  Clemency  should  show  the  cathedral 
to  Mr.  Whichcote ;  for  even  the  Puritans  of  Gloucester  had 
the  good  sense  to  be  proud  of  the  noble  building  that  had 
so  long  been  the  glory  of  their  city,  and  it  was  well  known 
that  the  Vicar  of  North  Cadbury  had  an  unusual  love  for 
the  beautiful.  Clemency,  like  most  people  of  her  genera- 
tion, was  somewhat  deficient  in  the  artistic  sense;  but  as 
they  wandered  through  the  great  building,  passing  from  the 
simple  grandeur  of  the  Norman  nave  to  the  exquisite  beauty 
of  the  choir,  a  curious  love  for  the  place  stole  over  her, 
and  she  felt  that  it  harmonized  well  with  the  quiet  talk 
that  followed  as  they  waited  with  Whichcote  in  the  cool 
cloisters. 

"  Tis  hard,"  said  Joscelyn,  as  he  looked  from  the  beau- 
tifully carved  roof  to  the  velvety  grass  in  the  quadrangle, 
all  starred  with  daisies  and  flecked  with  sunshine — "  'tis 
hard  to  realize  here  that  we  are  in  the  heart  of  a  panic- 
stricken  city." 

*'  An  emblem  in  its  peace,  I  hope,  of  what  your  life  may 
be,"  said  Whichcote.  "For,  after  all,  what  is  happiness 
but  heart's-ease  in  the  world,  not  troubling  ourselves  back- 
ward for  those  things  that  are  gone,  nor  forward  for  that 
which  is  not  yet  ?" 

Joscelyn  smiled.  "  And  truly,"  he  said,  taking  Clemen- 
cy's hand  in  his,  "  there  is  something  fitting  in  this  inter- 
ruption. Our  first  meeting  was  ushered  in  by  an  accident 
with  a  horse,  our  love  began  during  a  night  attack  on  a 
house,  our  betrothal  took  place  under  the  shade  of  an  old 


343 

British  yew-tree,  and  our  marriage  is  to  be  consummated  in 
a  beleaguered  city." 

"  Truly  your  lot  has  been  cast  in  troubled  days,"  said 
Whichcote.  "  We  must  not  shut  our  eyes  against  any  man- 
ifestations of  God  in  the  times  in  which  we  live.  The  works 
of  God  in  them  which  we  are  to  discern  should  direct  in  us 
principle,  affection,  and  action." 

"More  and  more  the  religious  side  of  the  war  comes  into 
prominence,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "and  if  the  taking  of  the  Cov- 
enant is  to  be  generally  enforced,  shall  we  not,  sir,  merely 
drift  back  to  the  old  tyranny  of  the  bishops,  under  another 
name  ?" 

"  Aye,  'tis  like  the  swing  of  the  pendulum,"  said  Which- 
cote, thoughtfully,  "yet  so  only  is  the  clock  kept  working. 
The  times  are  not  yet  ripe  for  a  general  toleration ;  we  can 
but  see  the  day  afar  off  and  rejoice." 

"  Methinks  life  would  be  far  easier,"  said  Clemency, "  were 
it  not  for  these  disputings  about  doctrines  and  ceremonies." 

"Truly,"  said  Whichcote,  "it  had  been  better  for  the 
Christian  Church  if  that  which  calls  itself  catholic  had 
been  less  employed  in  creating  pretended  faith,  and  more 
employed  in  maintaining  universal  charity." 

"  But  will  truth  ever  prevail  ?"  said  Clemency,  with  wist- 
ful eyes. 

Whichcote's  face  lighted  up  as  with  a  sudden  gleam  of 
sunshine.  "To  believe  there  is  a  God,"  he  said,  "is  to 
believe  the  existence  of  all  possible  good  and  perfection  in 
the  universe.  And  it  is  to  be  resolved  upon  this  that 
things  either  are  or  finally  shall  be  as  they  should  be. 
God  hath  set  up  two  lights  to  enlighten  us  in  our  way — the 
light  of  reason,  which  is  the  light  of  His  creation ;  and  the 
light  of  Scripture,  which  is  After-Revelation  from  Him.  Let 
us  make  use  of  these  two  lights,  and  suffer  neither  to  be 
put  out." 


344 

"  Are,  then,  the  differences  of  opinion,  sir,  but  the  effect 
of  differing  minds  and  varied  training  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  In  a  great  measure  I  think  them  to  be  so,"  said  Which- 
cote.  "  I  dare  not  blaspheme  free  and  noble  spirits  in  re- 
ligion who  search  after  truth,  lest  in  so  doing  I  should  de- 
generate into  a  spirit  of  persecution.  And  I  do  think  that 
the  destroying  of  this  spirit  of  persecution  out  of  the  Church 
is  a  piece  of  the  Reformation  which  God,  in  these  times  of 
change,  aims  at." 

At  that  moment  Christopher  Bennett  was  seen  approach- 
ing. With  a  hurried  apology  for  keeping  them  waiting,  he 
gave  his  arm  to  his  sister-in-law,  and  led  her  into  the  choir, 
where,  in  the  presence  of  Faith,  Arthur  Denham,  and  Char- 
lotte Wells,  Joscelyn  and  Clemency  took  their  mutual  vows 
of  undying  trust  and  love.  Through  the  great  east  win- 
dow, with  its  rich  stained  glass,  the  summer  sunshine 
streamed  in  with  cheerful  brightness,  and  the  hearts  of 
the  newly-wedded  pair  were  full  of  glad  content  as  they 
passed  out  once  more  from  the  peaceful  church  to  the  dis- 
tracted city. 

"  Look  your  last  at  the  tower,"  said  Christopher  Bennett, 
"for  the  governor  hath  ordered  that  it  be  protected  with 
wool-sacks."  And  before  night  had  come  the  whole  of  the 
upper  part  of  the  tower  had  been  efficiently  protected,  in- 
telligence had  been  brought  that  two  thousand  horse  from 
Bristol  had  advanced  to  within  ten  miles  of  Gloucester,  and 
the  siege  had  virtually  begun. 

Whichcote  took  leave  of  them  at  noon,  being  anxious  to 
return  to  his  wife  while  return  was  possible,  and  the  bride 
and  bridegroom,  whose  wedding-day  had  been  so  strangely 
ushered  in,  found  themselves  left  to  their  own  devices.  No 
one  was  inclined  for  merry-making,  those  who  were  not  panic- 
stricken  being  forced  to  strengthen  and  inspire  the  more 
feeble-minded. 


345 

The  two  sat  together  in  the  withdrawing-room,  perhaps 
all  the  more  deeply  happy  because  of  the  perils  that  threat- 
ened them,  and  strong  to  meet  the  dark  future  in  the 
double  strength  which  had  become  theirs.  No  anxieties 
troubled  them  that  day;  they  hugged  their  strange  new 
happiness,  and,  like  children,  lived  in  the  present.  What 
were  kings  and  parliaments  to  them  ?  What  were  sieges 
and  surrenders?  All  seemed  unreal  just  at  that  moment 
save  the  sweet  unity  which  was  not  to  be  marred  by  any 
outer  strife. 

Presently  Charlotte  entered  the  room  with  a  little  tray,  on 
which  were  some  almond-cakes  of  her  own  making  and  a 
flagon  of  perry — a  drink  in  which  she  had  much  faith  for 
invalids. 

"Not  that  I  want  to  interrupt,  sir,"  she  said,  in  her 
motherly  voice,  "but  we  must  remember  that  you  are  still 
weakly." 

"Why,  where  are  you  going,  Charlotte?"  said  Clem- 
ency, noticing  that  the  nurse -keeper  had  laid  aside  her 
best  dress,  and  had  donned  her  largest  and  most  homely 
apron. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Charlotte,  "they  tell  me  help  is 
needed  in  the  little  mead  in  getting  in  turf  for  repairing  the 
works  ;  and  that,  you  see,  is  light  work  which  a  woman  can 
very  well  do." 

Clemency  threw  her  arms  round  the  faithful  servant's 
neck. 

"I  do  believe,  Charlotte,"  she  said,  "that  you  are  the 
best  woman  in  the  world ;  you  are  always  wearing  yourself 
out  in  some  one's  behalf." 

"Well,  well,  my  dear,"  said  Charlotte,  "as  good  Mr. 
Whichcote  said  in  his  discourse  at  our  wedding  to-day,  *  We 
are  made  for  each  other,  and  each  of  us  is  to  be  a  supply  to 
the  other.'  " 


346 

She  hurried  away,  and  they  saw  her  erelong  walking  past 
the  house  at  her  own  brisk  pace,  with  a  spade  tucked  under 
her  arm,  and  a  great  white  dimity  sun-bonnet  as  protection 
from  the  heat. 

"Joscelyn,"  said  Clemency,  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek 
resting  close  to  his,  "  there  is  one  thing  that  I  want  you  to 
do  for  me." 

"  What  a  solemn  appeal !"  said  Joscelyn,  smiling.  "  There 
is  only  one  thing — literally  only  one — that  I  could  not  do 
for  you." 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Clemency. 

"  I  could  not  leave  a  city  in  such  a  plight  while  I  have  a 
leg  to  stand  on  or  an  arm  to  wield  pike  or  gun." 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  leave,"  said  Clemency ;  "  I  want 
you  not  to  mind  my  helping  too.  I  want  to  go  now  and  help 
Charlotte  in  the  mead." 

"  We  will  both  come,"  said  Joscelyn,  springing  up. 

"  Oh,  not  you,"  said  Clemency. 

"  Why  not  ?  Am  I  to  say,  like  the  self-indulgent  guest 
in  the  parable,  '  I  have  married  a  wife,  and  therefore  I  can- 
not come  ?' " 

"  But  I  do  not  think  you  are  strong  enough." 

"  Not  strong  enough !"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  and  catch- 
ing her  up  in  his  arms,  ran  round  the  room  with  her.  "  Now 
say  that  again." 

"Joscelyn,  put  me  down,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Just 
think  if  old  Madam  Bennett  were  to  come  in,  she  would 
think  we  were  out  of  our  wits !  And,  oh,  look !  down 
there  by  the  cathedral  I  can  see  the  governor  and  Mr.  John 
Corbet." 

"  Superintending  the  wool-sacks,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Let 
us  go  out  and  speak  to  them." 

Edward  Massey,  the  Governor  of  Gloucester,  was  a  fine- 
looking  man  in  the  prime  of  life ;  he  was  of  middle  stature, 


NOT    STRONG    ENOUGH  !     HE    SAID. 


[Page  346. 


347 

and  his  long  brown  curls  and  pointed  beard,  together  with 
his  aquiline  features,  large  eyes,  and  a  certain  lack  of  trust- 
worthiness in  the  expression,  made  him  curiously  like  the 
King ,  but  the  likeness  was  the  less  remarked  on  account  of 
his  ruddy  complexion  and  his  far  more  genial  bearing.  Mr. 
Corbet,  his  domestic  chaplain,  a  singularly  able  and  devoted 
Puritan,  drew  his  attention  to  the  approach  of  the  young 
bride  and  bridegroom,  and  Massey  gave  them  kindly  greet- 
ings and  congratulations. 

"  'Tis  refreshing  to  meet  with  two  bright  faces  among 
our  clouded  citizens,"  he  said.  "  Methinks  you  had  best 
walk  through  the  streets  and  cheer  up  the  many  drooping 
hearts." 

Clemency  laughed.  "  We  are  on  our  way  to  help  at  the 
fortifications,  sir,"  she  said,  showing  her  spade. 

Massey  looked  from  her  pure,  happy  face  to  Joscelyn's 
soldierly  figure.  Something  about  these  two  appealed  to 
his  higher  nature,  dealt  a  blow  to  the  spirit  of  self-seeking 
which  marred  his  many  noble  qualities,  and  made  him  for  a 
time,  at  least,  a  genuine  patriot.  The  disinterested  devotion 
of  the  young  husband  and  wife,  added  to  the  strong  influence 
of  Puritans  like  Alderman  Pury  and  his  son,  John  Corbet, 
and  Dorney,  the  town-clerk,  helped  to  work  an  extraordinary 
change  in  the  governor's  mind,  and  he  resolved  that  not  even 
at  the  request  of  the  King  would  he  prove  false  to  the  trust 
the  people  of  Gloucester  had  reposed  in  him.  Thus  Char- 
lotte Wells,  going  about  her  duty  as  a  good  and  faithful  serv- 
ant, had  helped  to  make  English  history  at  a  most  terrible 
crisis  in  the  country's  life ;  just  as,  in  truth,  every  honest 
man  or  woman  can  make  it  by  being  faithful  in  that  which 
is  least,  by  rising  above  petty  self-interests  into  the  broader, 
nobler  life  of  citizenship. 

They  found  her  hard  at  work  in  the  little  mead  with  a  few 
others,  whom  she  had  enlisted  in  the  walk  through  the  city, 


348 

but  she  held  up  her  hands  in  amaze  at  seeing  the  young 
bride  and  bridegroom. 

"  Why,  sir,"  she  cried,  reproachfully,  "  when  I  left  you  so 
comfortable  like  in  the  withdrawing-room  ?" 

"  'Tis  all  the  fault  of  your  cakes,  Charlotte,"  he  said,  with 
a  laugh.  "  They  must  have  been  leavened  with  patriotism, 
and  it  is  beginning  to  work  in  me." 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  are  not  yet  strong  enough  for  such  work," 
said  Charlotte,  shaking  her  head,  "  and  surely  on  your  wed- 
ding-day you  might  take  a  holiday." 

"  On  the  contrary,  the  better  the  day  the  better  the  deed," 
said  Joscelyn,  catching  up  a  spade.  "  We  were  both  of  us 
in  hot  haste  to  begin  that  mutual  keeping  of  each  other  in 
all  dangers  and  necessities  that  we  vowed  this  morning. 
What  more  practical  way  than  in  working  at  the  fortifi- 
cations ?" 

He  kept  them  all  in  excellent  spirits  by  the  contagion  of 
his  bright  humor,  and  Clemency  was  well  pleased  to  make 
Faith  laugh  that  evening  over  her  description  of  the  scene. 

"  I  understand  now,"  she  said,  "  what  Sir  William  Waller 
meant  by  Joscelyn's  influence  over  the  soldiefs.  He  hath 
the  strangest  power  of  cheering  the  hearts  of  other  folk  and 
making  hard  work  seem  light." 

"  I  would  we  had  had  him  at  Madam  Bennett's  house  to 
enliven  us,"  said  Faith,  with  a  portentous  yawn.  "There 
are  truly  some  advantages  in  wedding  a  man  whose  family 
have  disowned  him.  You  are  saved  the  trial  of  a  mother- 
in-law." 

"  You  would  not  speak  in  that  fashion  did  you  but  know 
how  Joscelyn  grieves  over  his  mother's  coldness  to  him,  or 
how  hard  it  is  for  me  not  to  hate  her  for  treating  him  thus," 
said  Clemency,  her  brow  contracting  a  little  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  certain  words  about  Lady  Heyworth  which  Joscelyn 
had  let  fall  during  his  illness. 


349 

"  Now  I  have  made  you  look  grave  on  your  wedding- 
day,"  said  Faith,  kissing  her.  '  "  Forget  what  I  said.  I  am 
out  of  humor,  and  weary  with  a  tedious  prayer -meeting; 
and  all  the  little  ways  of  the  Puritans  here,  which  are  un- 
like ours  at  home,  fret  and  chafe  me.  Your  husband  seems 
blessed  with  so  happy  a  temper  that  petty  details  in  no- 
wise affect  him.  I  asked  him  once  what  he  thought  right 
on  the  vexed  subject  of  kneeling  or  standing  at  prayer, 
and  he  said  he  could  not  think  it  a  question  of  right  or 
wrong ;  only  a  matter  of  taste ;  and  that,  so  the  heart  was 
reverent,  it  mattered  little  whether  the  knees  were  straight 
or  bent." 

"  His  own  personal  taste  is  all  for  simplicity  in  religion," 
said  Clemency.  "The  genuflections  at  each  mention  of 
our  Saviour  which  the  archbishop  enjoined  were  very  re- 
pugnant to  him.  He  told  me  once  that  they  seemed  to 
him  to  spring  from  unworthy  notions  of  God,  as  though, 
forsooth,  He  was  like  the  Emperor  of  China,  and  loved  to 
see  men  kowtowing  to  Him.  But  Joscelyn  thinks  that  each 
man  should  be  guided  by  his  inner  sense  of  right,  desiring 
— as  one  would  expect  the  pupil  of  Mr.  Hampden  and  Mr. 
Whichcote — a  very  wide  liberty  and  a  loving  respect  towards 
all  men." 

Faith  mused  for  a  minute. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  presently,  "  I  am  glad  we  have  many 
sober  and  moderate  Puritans  like  grandfather  and  Joscelyn 
still  left ;  but  it  seems  to  me  we  shall  never  recover  the  loss 
of  Mr.  Hampden.  He,  the  one  man  who  might  have  saved 
the  country,  is  slain,  and  the  King's  triumph  seems  close 
at  hand." 

"  All  things  are  out  of  course,"  replied  Clemency,  "  but 
God  rules.  How  can  it  be  that  the  attempt  of  the  King's 
foreign  nephew  to  steal  the  money  sent  by  the  Parliament 
to  the  army  should,  by  leading  to  the  death  of  Mr.  Hamp- 


350 

den,  defeat  the  plans  of  God  ?  The  death  of  such  a  one  must 
surely  kindle  in  us  a  greater  zeal  for  the  liberties  he  died  to 
strengthen  and  preserve,  a  greater  hatred  of  despotism  and 
priestcraft." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Alderman  Pury, 
who  came  with  congratulations  to  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom. 

"  I  hear  you  have  set  a  right  worthy  example,  and  have 
already  been  working  for  the  safety  of  the  city,"  he  said, 
kindly.  "  Yet  I  like  not  that  vain  relic  of  by-gone  symbols 
and  worthless  outer  show  of  inner  mysteries." 

"  My  wedding-ring  ?"  said  Clemency,  taking  it  off  with  great 
composure,  and  looking,  with  a  smile  in  her  eyes,  at  the  posy 
within  it.  "  In  truth,  sir,  I  have  no  superstition  about  it. 
We  merely  regard  it  as  a  useful  sign  to  mark  the  married 
from  the  unmarried,  and  Joscelyn  insists  on  wearing  one 
also.  He  saith  'tis  quite  as  important  that  men  be  thus  dis- 
tinguished as  women." 

"  It  is  a  relic  of  popery,"  said  Alderman  Pury,  shaking 
his  head. 

"  Yet  are  our  rings  very  far  removed  from  the  pope  and 
his  works,"  said  Clemency,  smiling.  "  See,  the  posy  is, 
*  Serve  the  good  Cause,'  and,  indeed,  dear  sir,  those  words 
were  the  last  said  to  my  husband  by  Mr.  Hampden,  and  are 
most  sacred  to  us." 

The  old  Puritan  bent  down  and  kissed  her  hand.  "  I  will 
say  no  more,"  he  protested ;  "  that  name  silences  all  ob- 
jections. " 

It  was  not  till  the  loth  of  August  that  Gloucester  was 
actually  summoned ;  skirmishes  in  the  neighborhood  and 
busy  work  at  the  fortifications,  storing  the  city  with  food, 
and  dismissing  the  half-hearted  from  the  gates  had  filled  up 
the  interval.  But  on  Thursday  the  King  with  the  advance- 
guard  of  the  finest  army  he  ever  had — in  a  few  days'  time 


it  numbered  30,000  men  —  appeared  before  the  walls,  and 
at  two  o'clock  he  sent  a  trumpeter  and  two  heralds  with 
his  summons  to  the  city,  promising,  "  On  the  word  of  a 
king,"  free  pardon  to  all  if  the  submission  were  imme- 
diate. 

"  His  Majesty  might  have  chosen  some  stronger  assur- 
ance," was  Christopher  Bennett's  bitter  comment.  "  The 
word  of  a  king  is  precisely  what  he  hath  forced  all  men  to 
distrust." 

Arthur  Denham  started  up  at  this,  and  would  have 
made  an  indignant  protest  had  not  Joscelyn  laid  a  hand 
on  his  arm ,  and  the  master  of  the  house,  far  too  much  dis- 
tracted to  be  observant,  hurried  from  the  room  in  search  of 
his  wife. 

"  Do  not  quarrel  with  him  now,"  pleaded  Joscelyn.  "  Con- 
sider what  a  desperate  case  he  is  in.  Tis  hard  for  you  to 
be  thus  a  prisoner,  and  your  own  friends  without,  as  I  well 
enough  know.  But  he  meant  no  insult  to  you." 

"  To  me  ?  What  signifies  that  ?"  said  Denham.  "  But  he 
is  disloyal  to  the  King — he  insults  his  Majesty !" 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  silence,  Joscelyn  being  well 
convinced  that  the  words  were  no  slander,  and  that  what- 
ever the  merits  of  Charles  as  a  man,  he  was  as  a  king  hope- 
lessly deceitful  and  treacherous.  Denham  knew  him  well 
enough  to  guess  what  was  passing  in  his  mind  ;  he  knew 
that  it  was  merely  courtesy  and  friendship  towards  himself 
that  kept  his  companion  from  echoing  Christopher  Ben- 
nett's words. 

"  I  have  never  asserted,"  he  said,  "  that  the  King  was  fault- 
less, but  that  we  are  to  be  loyal  to  him  in  spite  of  his  faults. 
I  cannot  understand  how  you  of  all  men  on  earth  should  be 
lacking  in  loyalty." 

"  But  loyalty  has  no  necessary  connection  with  the  King," 
said  Joscelyn.  "  It  means  being  faithful  to  law.  A  wife 


352 

may  honor  her  husband,  but  if  he  bids  her  steal  she  must 
break  her  promise  of  obedience  to  him  and  be  loyal  to  the 
law  of  the  land." 

"  Do  not  you  by  the  law  of  the  land  owe  allegiance  to  the 
King?"  said  Denham. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Joscelyn,  "yet  'twas  held  by  Mr. 
Hampden  and  all  our  leaders  that  rebellion  is  a  duty  when 
the  just  liberties  of  the  subject  are  imperilled  or  religion  is 
attacked.  There  is  even  a  higher  loyalty  than  loyalty  to  the 
law  of  the  land,  and  that  is  loyalty  to  conscience.  The  fol- 
lowers of  Wycliffe  preached  in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  the 
land,  and  their  blood  proved  the  seed  of  the  Reformation. 
Nay,  it  was  under  the  abominable  heresy  laws  of  England, 
repealed  in  the  time  of  Edward  VI.,  and  again  made  law 
under  Queen  Mary,  that  Bishop  Hooper  was  burned  at 
the  farther  side  of  yon  cathedral.  And  what  did  he  say 
to  those  who  at  the  last  tried  to  induce  him  to  sign  a 
paper  promising  to  conform  to  the  law  ?  '  If  you  love  my 
soul,'  he  cried,  *  take  it  away.'  From  loyalty  to  a  higher 
law  he  let  himself  be  slowly  roasted  over  a  fire  of  green 
wood." 

"  And  from  loyalty  to  a  principle — as  it  seems  to  me  the 
most  fantastic  overstrained  principle — you  are  willing  to  risk 
your  whole  career,"  said  Arthur  Denham,  "  willing  to  bring 
upon  your  newly-wedded  wife  disgrace  and  misery?  The 
tide  is  turning;  everywhere  the  King  conquers  ;  can  you  not 
see  that  you  are  bound  to  lose  ?" 

"  With  the  losing  or  the  winning  we  have  no  right  to  con- 
cern ourselves,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  I  have  but  to  be  faithful  to 
conscience.  Better  hang  as  an  honest  rebel  than  feast  as  a 
cringing  time-server. 

"  A  time-server  you  could  never  be,"  said  Denham,  warm- 
ly. "  I  meant  only  that  I  would  fain  have  you  see  your 
error." 


353 

Joscelyn  laughed.  "  We  are  like  the  two  knights  with 
the  gold  and  silver  shield.  But  methinks  only  Death  him- 
self will  be  the  third  knight  and  reconcile  our  differences." 
Then,  his  bright  face  clouding  over  for  a  minute  and  tears 
starting  to  his  eyes,  he  added,  in  a  lower  voice  :  "  Yet  if,  as 
all  men  think,  this  siege  prove  our  last  desperate  bit  of  re- 
sistance, and  for  a  time  our  cause  be  crushed  and  thwarted, 
then,  when  I  am  hanged  or  imprisoned  or  exiled,  which- 
ever it  may  be,  I  beg  you,  Denham,  by  this  strange  friend- 
ship of  ours,  born  and  bred  in  the  war,  to  guard  and  help  my 
wife  to  the  best  of  your  power.  Will  you  do  this  much  for 
a  rebel?" 

"  Aye,  that  will  I,"  said  Denham,  heartily,  griping  his 
hand.  Even  as  they  spoke  they  noticed  a  red  glow  in 
the  sky,  and  Faith  and  Clemency  came  hurrying  into  the 
room. 

"  Oh,"  they  cried,  "  the  suburbs  are  on  fire  !  Every  house 
outside  the  walls  is  to  be  burned." 

"  Tis  needful,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  The  owners  were  warned 
days  ago,  and  have  moved  their  goods.  One  is  sorry  for 
them,  but  the  suburbs  must  go  to  save  the  city;  the  city, 
likely  enough,  must  perish  to  save  the  nation.  And  you 
and  I,  dear  heart,  must  sacrifice  our  honeymoon  all  for 
the  well-being  of  the  generations  yet  to  come,  that  they 
may  dwell  at  peace  in  the  land  which  for  us  hath  been  full 
of  strife." 

At  that  moment  the  dull  roar  of  cannon  fell  upon  their 
ears.  Faith  gave  a  cry  of  dismay,  but  Clemency  had  al- 
ready caught  something  of  her  husband's  undaunted  spirit; 
she  asked  him  at  what  hour  he  was  on  duty  as  composedly 
as  if  she  had  been  inquiring  the  hour  of  a  prayer-meeting. 

"  Neither  from  the  surgeon,  nor  from  the  governor,  nor 
from  the  mayor  could  I  get  leave  to  be  one  of  the  regular 
garrison,"  said  Joscelyn,  smiling.  "They  all  protested 
23 


354 

'twas  too  soon  after  Lansdown.  I  am  but  in  the  reserve, 
and  shall  have  light  work,  not  being  due  at  my  post  till 
sunrise." 

"  If  your  face  lights  up  in  that  fashion,  Clemency,"  said 
Faith,  laughing,  "  he  will  think  the  sun  hath  already  risen. 
There !  go  away,  both  of  you,  and  leave  me  to  grumble  to 
Mr.  Denham." 

They  took  her  at  her  word,  and  by-and-by  Denham  and 
Faith,  who  had  mounted  to  the  attic  and  were  looking  east- 
ward at  the  burning  houses,  caught  sight  of  the  young  hus- 
band and  wife  pacing  up  and  down  a  quiet  alley  in  the  gar- 
den below. 

"  Just  see  those  two,"  cried  Faith,  "  wrapped  round  so 
closely  in  their  happiness  that  this  lurid  sky  and  the  roar  of 
the  artillery  cannot  disturb  them  !  They  are  blind  and  deaf 
to  all  save  each  other's  looks  and  words." 

"  Yes,  while  they  are  together ;  but  apart  they  pay  a  heavy 
price  for  it,"  said  Denham,  remembering  the  request  Josce- 
lyn  had  made  of  him  and  the  look  in  his  eyes.  "  Would  to 
God  this  cruel  war  were  at  an  end  !  One  trembles  to  think 
of  a  love  like  theirs  begun  in  these  times." 

"  Clemency  will  doubtless,  I  fear,  have  many  troubles," 
said  Faith,  her  pretty  face  growing  sad  and  grave  for  a  mo- 
ment. "  But  then  " — with  a  laugh — "  she  will  not  have  to 
keep  house  through  a  siege,  and  she  will  be  well-nigh  as  un- 
troubled by  a  mother-in-law  as  Eve  herself.  You  as  a 
bachelor,  and  I  as  a  matron  of  experience,  are  far  more  full 
of  cares  than  those  lovers,  who  walk  there  just  as  if  our 
pleasance  were  the  Garden  of  Eden !" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Who,  when  they  saw  the  host  coming  to  meet  them,  said,  "How 
shall  we  be  able,  being  so  few,  to  fight  against  so  great  a  multi- 
tude and  so  strong?"  Unto  whom  Judas  answered:  "It  is  no  hard 
matter  for  many  to  be  shut  up  in  the  hands  of  a  few  ;  and  with  the 
God  of  Heaven  it  is  all  one  to  deliver  with  a  great  multitude  or  a  small 
company.  For  the  victory  of  battle  standeth  not  in  the  multitude  of 
an  host;  but  strength  cometh  from  Heaven." 

— FIRST  BOOK  OF  THE  MACCABEES. 

"  COLLEGE  GREEN,  GLOUCESTER,  \$th  August,  1642. 
"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  URSULA, — Though  there  be  as  yet  little 
likelihood  of  sending  letters,  I  shall  begin  to  write  to  you, 
that  so  if  opportunity  offers  I  be  not  behindhand,  and 
also  because  I  greatly  long  to  tell  you  all  that  has  passed  of 
late.  You  will  have  seen  our  letters  to  my  grandfather  and 
to  Hester  on  the  5th,  telling  of  our  marriage,  so  I  will  not 
repeat  what  was  then  said,  but  rather  tell  you  what  hath 
since  come  to  pass.  We  are  very  straitly  besieged,  yet  I 
know  not  that  'tis  so  bad  as  the  suspense  and  uncertainty 
that  went  before,  when,  as  the  jest  ran  among  the  Royalists, 

'twas  a  case  of 

1  Bristol  taking, 
Exeter  shaking, 
Gloucester  quaking.' 

Methinks  a  siege  is  like  tooth-drawing — worse  to  look  for- 
ward to  than  at  the  time,  when  one's  courage  mounteth 
with  occasion.  At  first  I  thought  'twould  have  been 
far  easier  to  bear  had  Joscelyn  still  been  invalided,  but  in 
truth  his  joy  at  being  recovered  in  time  to  serve  hath  so 
acted  on  me  that  I,  too,  cannot  but  be  glad,  even  though  as 


356 

each  morning  I  bid  him  farewell  and  see  him  set  off  to  the 
walls  my  heart  is  sorely  disquieted.  Yet  is  his  bright,  hope- 
ful temperament  beginning  to  work  upon  my  over-anxious 
spirit  that  you  have  ever  chid,  just  as  Faith's  cheerfulness 
hath  to  some  extent  brightened  her  husband,  and  made 
him,  spite  of  these  troubles,  less  gloomy  and  severe. 

*'  The  very  day  after  the  King  had  summoned  the  city  the 
pipes  that  supply  our  conduits  with  water  from  Robin's 
Wood  Hill  were  cut  by  the  enemy  and  the  mill  water  di- 
verted, which  put  us  to  some  trouble,  as  all  the  corn  had 
to  be  ground  with  hand  or  horse  mills,  and  for  water  we  had 
to  shift  as  best  we  could  with  wells  in  sundry  parts  and 
with  fetching  and  carrying  from  the  river,  which  put  old 
Madam  Bennett  into  a  mighty  fluster.  All  the  first  night 
and  the  next  day  the  King's  men  were  at  work  in  the 
trenches ;  they  were  within  musket-shot  of  the  walls,  and 
Joscelyn  brought  home  in  the  evening  strange  tales  of  the 
words  that  had  been  bandied  between  the  men,  the  Royal- 
ists very  fierce  in  their  expressions  of  contumely,  'Den 
of  rebels'  being  their  mildest  term  of  abuse,  and  our 
men  by  no  means  slow  to  retort.  Alas !  I  cannot  help 
looking  forward  with  dread  to  the  end,  and  thinking  how 
terrible  will  be  the  entrance  of  a  conquering  enemy  angered 
by  our  stubborn  resistance.  Joscelyn  is  convinced  that  Sir 
William  Waller  will  come  to  our  rescue,  but  the  King's 
words  to  our  two  citizens  who  brought  him  the  refusal  to 
yield  Gloucester  will  often  come  back  to  me.  '  Waller,'  he 
said,  *  is  extinct,  and  Essex  cannot  come.'  This  reminds 
me  that  I  must  tell  you,  who  love  the  King,  of  something  1 
heard  to  his  praise.  He  received  the  messengers  with 
courtesy,  and  reproved  some  of  his  followers  who  made  a 
jest  of  their  cropped  heads ;  and,  truly,  I  must  own,  they 
chose  the  most  extreme  of  the  Puritans  as  ambassadors ; 
Original  Sin  Smith  himself  could  not  have  looked  more  un- 


357 

couth.  Sir  William  Waller  once  told  me  that  he  invariably 
chose  Joscelyn  to  be  one  of  those  sent  as  hostages  or  am- 
bassadors, because  of  his  courtesy  and  noble  bearing,  but 
the  good  folk  of  Gloucester  went  on  another  plan.  His 
Majesty  seemed  amazed  at  the  temerity  of  the  place  in 
holding  out  against  such  a  great  army.  And,  truly,  it  doth 
seem  a  desperate  enterprise.  Our  garrison  is  very  small  ; 
save  the  reserve  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  men,  they  are 
all  forced  to  be  on  the  walls  day  and  night.  Tis  a  case  of 
fifteen  hundred  men  behind  sadly  imperfect  fortifications 
and  with  but  a  limited  supply  of  gunpowder  against  a  be- 
sieging army  of  thirty  thousand. 

"  'Tis  strange  how  soon  folk  grow  accustomed  to  peril ; 
at  first  the  roar  of  the  cannon  was  terrible,  but  now  we 
scarce  heed  it  more  than  thunder,  and  there  is  much  to  do 
and  little  time  to  think.  I  will  tell  you  how  our  days 
mostly  pass.  At  five  we  rise,  and  Charlotte  brings  us  a 
snug  breakfast ;  then,  my  husband  and  I  having  prayed  to- 
gether, I  help  him  to  put  on  his  armor,  and  we  walk  hand 
in  hand  through  the  garden,  and  take  leave  of  each  other 
at  a  little  postern  that  gives  into  a  street  leading  to  the 
High  Cross,  he  going  forth  to  his  post  near  the  East  Gate, 
and  I  returning  to  our  room  to  pray  alone,  then  to  help 
Faith  in  the  house  and  to  count  the  hours  till  noon,  when 
Charlotte  and  I  walk  to  the  walls  bearing  food  for  Joscelyn. 
In  the  afternoon  all  who  are  able,  rich  and  poor,  women, 
and  even  children,  help  to  work  at  the  fortifications,  and  I 
do  assure  you  Faith  and  I  grow  as  brown  as  berries  toiling 
in  the  sun  at  the  turfs ;  and  as  to  our  hands,  'tis  enough  to 
make  a  fine  lady  blush  only  to  look  at  them.  But  in  our 
secret  hearts  we  are  proud  of  them,  and  have  many  a  laugh 
at  that  blessed  meal  of  supper,  when  Joscelyn,  who  returns 
at  six  o'clock,  always  holds  what  he  calls  '  Hand  review ' 
on  the  table,  Faith  and  I  laying  our  hands  beside  his 


35* 

bronzed  ones,  which,  however,  from  the  natural  fairness  of 
his  skin,  always  carry  off  the  honors,  and,  as  Faith  says, 
rival  in  color  her  best  copper  kettle.  They  have  dammed 
up  the  east  and  south  ports,  because  'tis  from  that  quarter 
they  expect  the  chief  attack,  it  being  the  only  side  from 
which  the  King's  forces  can  carry  on  their  work  free  from 
water  springs. 

"  Thursday,  I7///  August. 

"  As  I  wrote  the  above  words,  two  days  ago,  Joscelyn  re- 
turned looking  more  worn  and  tired  than  he  is  wont  to  do, 
and  bringing  us  sad  news  of  the  death  of  Captain  Harcus, 
a  lieutenant  to  the  Earl  of  Stamford,  who  had  shown  a 
noteworthy  courage  in  the  sallies  of  the  nth  and  i2th.  It 
seems  he  was  in  Friar's  Orchard  on  Tuesday  afternoon, 
and  had  thrown  a  granado  into  the  trenches,  when,  trying 
to  see  what  success  it  had,  he  was  shot.  As  yet  we  have 
lost  but  few  men,  although  there  are  almost  daily  sallies — 
yesterday  a  very  severe  skirmish,  in  which  many  of  the  en- 
emy were  reported  to  be  slain.  But,  though  perhaps  'tis 
selfish  of  me,  this  merely  heard  of  sally  makes  less  impres- 
sion on  me  than  the  danger  which  I  saw  and  but  narrowly 
escaped.  Charlotte  and  I  went  to-day,  as  usual,  to  take 
Joscelyn's  dinner  at  noon,  and  afterwards  visited  a  poor 
woman  near  the  South  Gate  who  is  in  sore  trouble,  her 
daughter  having  been  killed  the  day  after  the  siege  be- 
gan through  rashly  looking  over  the  walls.  Since  then  the 
poor  mother  hath  been  sick  with  grief  and  wholly  unable  to 
bestir  herself.  Charlotte  and  I  talked  with  her  for  a  while 
and  set  her  house  in  order,  then  because  the  fetching  of 
water  from  the  nearest  well  was  more  than  she  was  fit  for, 
we  went  to  draw  it  for  her,  the  poor  soul  being  scarce  able 
to  endure  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  which  to-day  the  King's 
forces  ply  very  fiercely  from  their  battery  on  Gaudy  Green. 
We  had  filled  the  pail,  and  Charlotte  was  carrying  it  along, 


359 

protesting  that  she  needed  no  help,  and  talking  in  her  kind 
fashion  of  the  poor  woman's  sorrow  and  how  we  might 
serve  her,  when  right  in  front  of  us— not  half  a  dozen  yards 
off  —  fell  a  huge  granado.  I  stood  there  as  if  turned  to 
stone,  just  stupidly  staring  at  the  thing  as  it  lay,  so  mortal 
a  terror  did  paralyze  my  limbs.  But  Charlotte — dear  brave 
Charlotte — without  pausing  one  moment,  walked  right  up 
to  the  granado  and  emptied  her  pail  of  water  over  it,  so 
putting  out  the  fuse.  Then,  almost  before  the  sense  had 
come  back  to  my  dazed  brain,  we  were  surrounded  by  a 
crowd  of  questioners ;  an  officer  and  some  of  the  soldiers 
from  the  South  Gate  came  up,  and  shortly  Governor  Massey 
himself. 

" '  Your  courage  and  good  sense  have  saved  many  lives 
this  day,'  he  said  to  Charlotte.  '  You  may,  for  aught  we  know, 
have  saved  the  South  Gate  itself,  and  with  that  the  city.' 

"Then  all  the  people  cheered,  which  made  Charlotte's 
eyes  fill,  as  methinks  cheering  is  apt  to  do. 

" '  I  thank  the  Lord,  sir,'  she  said,  quietly,  '  that  my  mis- 
tress and  I  were  passing  and  that  the  pail  was  full.' 

"  And  with  that  she  turned  away  to  refill  it  for  the  poor 
woman,  though,  as  you  can  fancy,  a  dozen  folk  ran  to  help 
her,  and  insisted  on  carrying  it,  waiting  on  her  with  a  little 
of  the  respect  she  so  well  deserves. 

"The  granado  was  taken  up  whole,  and,  the  governor 
causing  it  to  be  weighed,  'twas  found  to  be  as  much  as  sixty 
pounds.  Joscelyn,  coming  home  later  on,  could  do  naught 
but  talk  of  our  narrow  escape.  I  can  never  tell  you,  dear 
Mrs.  Ursula,  how  great  is  his  love  and  care  for  me.  'Tis 
not  the  fussing  care  that  some  men  show — not  the  love  that 
treats  a  wife  as  a  sort  of  pretty  puppet — but  one  that  makes 
the  words  of  the  marriage  service  comparing  the  husband's 
love  to  Christ's  seem  no  exaggeration.  Of  the  selfish  love 
of  some  men  'twould  seem  blasphemy  to  use  such  a  descrip- 


tion,  but  of  my  dear  husband's  devotion  it  doth  seem  to  me 
the  only  symbol  fitting.  Sometimes  I  think  that  such  hap- 
piness as  ours  cannot  last  long  in  this  world,  yet  maybe 
that  is  but  a  return  of  my  bad  habit  of  melancholy,  which 
his  presence  doth  mostly  exorcise.  We  could  not  help 
laughing  at  supper  just  now,  for  when  Charlotte  came  into 
the  room  with  some  of  that  calves'-foot  jelly  she  hath  a  par- 
ticular belief  in  for  strengthening  folk,  Joscelyn  sprang  up 
and  kissed  her  before  us  all  as  gallantly  as  any  cavalier 
could  have  done,  thanking  her  for  saving  what  he  said  was 
more  than  all  the  world  to  him,  and  ending  with  the  hope 
that  as  one  resolute  woman  had  helped  to  save  a  city,  so 
one  resolute  city  might  help  to  save  England. 

"  3O///  August. 

"  The  next  day  after  writing  the  above  there  was  a  note- 
worthy sally  and  some  severe  fighting,  but  our  losses  were 
still  slight.  Every  now  and  then,  too,  mixed  with  the  sad- 
ness and  anxiety,  there  comes  a  comical  adventure  that, 
however  small,  sets  us  laughing,  as  perchance  it  might  not 
do  were  we  less  strained  and  expectant.  On  the  igth  a 
cannon-ball,  doubtless  intended  to  do  us  much  hurt,  only 
struck  down  a  pig,  whereat  the  merriment  was  great,  and 
our  soldiers  ate  the  pig  and  taunted  the  enemy !  That 
same  day,  however,  a  granado  fell  on  the  roof  of  Mr.  Hath- 
waye's  house,  and  broke  through  into  the  room  beneath, 
and  so  into  the  court,  one  bit  falling  down  the  chimney  into 
the  kitchen.  By  the  mercy  of  God,  three  of  the  household 
who  happened  to  be  sitting  by  the  fire  were  unharmed. 
Many  other  houses  have  been  struck,  but  little  serious  mis- 
chief done.  I  care  for  naught  when  once  my  husband  is 
safe  home,  even  when,  as  now  and  then  happens,  the  drums 
beat  an  alarm  round  the  city  in  thedead  of  night,  an  attack 
being  expected. 


"CHARLOTTE  EMPTIED  HER  TAIL  OF  WATER  OVER  IT." 

[Page  359- 


"  Faith  and  I  do  greatly  long  for  tidings  from  Katterham, 
and  to  know  how  it  fares  with  my  grandfather  and  the  chil- 
dren. There  is  a  preacher  here,  a  Mr.  Halford,  who  the 
other  day  said  in  his  sermon  words  that  often  come  to  my 
mind.  He  bade  us  remember  that  'though  the  passages 
were  closed  on  earth,  there  remained  a  way  open  to  heaven.' 
Perhaps  that  we  use  this  way  the  more  and  learn  its  value, 
it  is  needful  sometimes  to  have  checks  to  our  earthly  ways 
of  communicating. 

"On  the  2ist  two  unsuccessful  sallies  were  made,  and 
our  designs,  through  the  foolish  mistake  of  a  guide,  miscar- 
ried. Christopher,  who  was  taking  part  in  the  attempt  un- 
der Colonel  Stephens,  received  a  wound  in  the  leg  serious 
enough  to  lay  him  up  for  three  weeks,  it  is  feared.  Faith 
protests  that  she  is  thankful  for  anything  that  stays  him 
at  home,  and  it  is  helping  to  make  old  Madam  Bennett 
appreciate  her  daughter-in-law,  their  common  anxiety  draw- 
ing them  the  one  to  the  other. 

"On  the  24th  a  conference  was  held  inside  the  draw- 
bridge at  the  North  Gate  with  Mr.  Bell  and  a  Mr.  Hill  of 
Tewkesbury,  they  endeavoring  to  persuade  the  city  to  yield 
to  the  dreadful  threats  of  the  Royalists,  and  to  save  the 
terrible  suffering  which  the  King's  troops  are  causing  to 
the  poor  country  folk,  who,  whether  they  will  or  no,  are 
forced  by  the  foraging  parties  to  support  that  great  army, 
and  many  are  made  prisoners  and  cruelly  threatened  to  ex- 
tort money  from  them  'Tis  grievous  to  think  of  their  hard 
case,  but  yet  we  must  be  true  to  our  trust,  and  I  am  right 
glad  that  Governor  Massey  resolutely  refused  to  yield  up 
Gloucester. 

"  I  could  tell  you  many  strange  tales  of  narrow  escapes. 
Once  a  bullet  weighing  twenty  pounds  broke  into  a  room  at 
the  Crown  Inn,  by  God's  providence  striking  only  a  bolster, 
which  it  hurled  forward  to  the  window,  but,  lodging  in  the 


562 

centre,  did  no  harm.  On  Friday  last  and  all  through  the 
following  night  the  King's  battery  at  Llanthony  shot  red- 
hot  fire-balls.  It  was  fearful  to  see  in  the  dark  these  great 
fiery  iron  bullets  flying  through  the  air  like  thunder-bolts. 
Joscelyn  says  many  of  them  weighed  twenty-two  pounds.  I 
went  with  him  in  the  evening  to  see  one  which  had  fallen 
into  the  house  of  an  apothecary  named  Comelin ;  it  was 
cooling  when  we  saw  it  in  a  water-butt,  where,  with  much 
ado,  they  had  contrived  to  place  it,  the  buckets  of  water 
they  had  cast  over  it  to  put  it  out  having  proved  of  little  use. 
As  we  walked  home  we  saw  that  links  were  burning  on  the 
college  tower.  My  husband  told  me  it  was  decided  to  light 
this  beacon,  and  that  young  Captain  Pury  should  keep  it 
alight  till  the  moon  had  risen,  so  that  my  Lord  Essex  or  Sir 
William  Waller,  in  marching  to  our  relief,  might  not  be 
misled  by  the  false  rumors  of  Gloucester  having  been  taken, 
which,  'tis  believed,  the  enemy  endeavor  to  circulate  in  the 
country.  The  Royalists,  annoyed  at  the  light,  aimed  several 
bullets  at  the  tower,  and  Captain  Pury  nearly  met  with  his 
death,  but  still  persisted  in  his  duty. 

"  On  Saturday  last  the  enemy,  angered  by  the  boldness 
of  our  men  in  fetching  in  much-needed  hay  from  Walham, 
set  the  hay-cocks  on  fire,  but  were  severely  punished  in  con- 
sequence by  our  shot.  Tis  grievous  to  think  of  all  the 
waste  and  destruction  this  war  doth  bring  in  its  train.  That 
same  day  two  messengers  were  secretly  sent  forth  from  the 
city,  and  yesterday  our  spirits  were  greatly  cheered  by  their 
safe  return  from  Warwick,  bringing  us  news  from  his  Excel- 
lency and  Sir  William  Waller  of  a  relief  shortly  coming  to 
us.  Save  these  messengers,  none  have  left  the  city  (except 
some  four  or  five  deserters)  since  the  seige  began,  but  many 
have  been  engaged  in  sallies,  and,  as  I  told  you,  the  hay- 
makers have  been  bold  enough,  and  we  women  work  in  the 
little  mead.  The  most  curious  of  all  is  the  plan  for  letting 


363 

the  cattle  graze  there.  The  poor  beasts  are  put  over  the 
works  by  a  bridge  of  ladders,  and  a  special  guard  of  mus- 
keteers has  to  protect  them  and  bring  them  into  the  city  at 
sunset.  The  enemy  like  this  but  ill,  and  sent  out  a  detach- 
ment of  horse  against  these  kine,  but  their  body-guard  safely 
protected  them  and  beat  off  the  Royalists. 

' '  Sunday,  ^>d  September. 

"Charlotte,  Faith,  and  I  were  working  as  usual  with 
some  other  citizens  in  this  same  little  mead  yesterday,  I  in 
my  secret  heart  thinking  more  of  a  somewhat  fierce-looking 
cow  with  an  angry  eye  than  of  any  danger  from  the  enemy, 
when  suddenly  the  Welsh  garrison  at  the  Vineyard  began 
firing  upon  us  from  a  ditch.  We  went  on  working — though 
I  plead  guilty  to  much  trembling  of  the  knees — and  our 
artillery,  seeing  our  danger,  began  to  play  on  the  Welshmen, 
and  quickly  dispersed  them. 

"  All  this  while  I  have  not  told  you  that  one  day,  when  I 
was  with  Joscelyn  at  the  walls,  Governor  Massey,  chancing 
to  be  near,  bade  me  look  through  his  prospective,  for  that 
the  King  was  clearly  to  be  seen.  His  Majesty  was  at  too 
great  a  distance  for  me  to  see  his  face,  but  I  could  plainly 
distinguish  the  outline  of  his  figure,  and  could  see  that  he 
was  an  excellent  good  rider,  though  not  so  graceful  a  horse- 
man as  some  I  could  name.  He  rode  at  the  head  of  some 
cavalry,  and  wore  a  complete  suit  of  bright  armor,  on  which 
the  sun  did  glint  in  most  dazzling  brightness.  I  wished 
you  had  been  here  to  see  him.  It  is  well  for  me  that  I 
have  you  for  my  friend,  else  I  should  find  it  more  difficult 
to  keep  from  bitter  feelings  against  those  who,  as  Joscelyn 
would  say,  look  at  the  shield  from  the  other  side.  In  truth, 
it  hath  been  a  great  gain  to  us  all  to  have  with  us  through- 
out the  siege  a  Royalist  like  Mr.  Denham  in  the  house. 
He  and  my  husband  are  fast  friends,  spite  of  all  differences, 


364 

and  the  being  forced,  out  of  courtesy  to  a  prisoner,  to  avoid 
as  far  as  might  be  uttering  words  that  would  hurt  him  hath 
been  an  excellent  curb  on  us.  I  do  truly  think  that  he  is 
as  good  a  man  and  as  true  as  my  husband,  his  views  of  life 
much  the  same,  save  in  this  matter  of  politics,  and  his  rev- 
erence for  women  and  desire  to  do  the  will  of  God  just  as 
marked  a  feature  in  his  character.  He  vows  he  will  wed 
none  other  than  little  Rosamond  Heyworth,  Joscelyn's  sis- 
ter, she  having  wholly  won  his  heart,  child  though  she  is, 
by  her  loving  plot  at  Farnham  last  autumn  for  my  dear 
husband's  deliverance.  Mr.  Denham  would  have  fared 
better  had  he  been  left  in  prison  at  Bristol  with  two 
other  Royalist  officers  taken  at  Devizes,  they  of  course 
being  set  free  when  Prince  Rupert  took  the  city.  But  Sir 
William  Waller  thought  to  do  him  a  kindness  by  leaving 
him  here,  and  we  have  every  reason  to  be  glad  of  his 
company. 

"  There  was  no  sermon  in  church  this  morning,  for  the 
preacher  was  warned  that  the  enemy  was  preparing  a  bat- 
tery at  the  East  Gate,  and  that  our  peril  was  extreme.  Being 
all  assembled,  we  had  prayers,  and  then,  much  to  our  relief, 
were  dismissed.  On  Wednesday  last,  the  public  feast-day, 
a  musket-ball  fell  into  St.  Nicholas  Church  while  we  were 
listening  to  the  sermon,  and  though  it  did  no  harm,  yet  it 
was  sufficiently  startling. 

"  Faith  and  I  were  glad  to  be  in  the  open  air,  though 
there  has  been  little  rest  to  mark  this  as  the  Lord's  day,  for 
the  firing  was  incessant,  and  every  one  was  working  hard  at 
a  great  breastwork  across  Eastgate  Street,  and  lining  the 
adjacent  houses.  The  Royalists  tried  to  frighten  us  by  an 
ill-omened  message  shot  into  the  town  upon  an  arrow.  The 
words  on  the  paper  ran  thus :  '  Your  god  Waller  has  for- 
saken you,  and  hath  retired  himself  to  the  Tower  of  Lon- 
don. Essex  is  beaten  like  a  dog.  Yield  to  the  King's 


365 

mercy  in  time ;  otherwise,  if  we  enter  perforce,  no  quarter 
for  such  obstinate,  traitorly  rogues.' 

"  They  also  threaten  when  they  enter  to  hang  the  twelve 
aldermen  to  the  signs  of  the  twelve  inns.  But  I  pray  that 
God  may  deliver  us,  and  Joscelyn  thinks  the  message  on 
the  arrow  is  naught  but  a  foul  lie,  and  that  help  will  yet 
come.  God  grant  it  may  be  soon,  for  our  powder  is  all  but 
exhausted,  and  there  are  but  two  powder-mills  in  Gloucester, 
which  cannot  turn  out  more  than  three  barrels  a  week,  so 
that  if  help  come  not  speedily  we  are  undone.  Two  mes- 
sengers were  secretly  gotten  out  of  the  city  to-night  to  give 
us  news  whether  the  relieving  army  is  near. 

-   ' '  Monday,  ^th  September. 

"Our  hopes  are  revived,  for  the  Royalist  cavalry  are 
removed,  and  it  may  be  that  they  intend  to  raise  the  siege. 
May  God  protect  the  relieving  army,  and  deliver  them  out 
of  the  hand  of  Prince  Rupert !  Joscelyn  hath  brought  back 
good  tidings  that  the  beacon-fires  are  burning  on  Waynload 
Hill ;  no  doubt  they  have  been  kindled  by  our  two  messen- 
gers. This  was  the  agreed  sign  that  they  should  give  that 
help  was  near  at  hand.  Captain  Pury  answered  with  links 
on  the  college  tower.  A  most  joyful  and  cheering  sight  to 
us  in  our  anxiety.  Mr.  Halford's  children  have  had  a  prov- 
idential escape ;  a  bullet  weighing  twenty-five  pounds  broke 
into  the  kitchen  where  only  a  short  time  before  they  had 
been. 

"6M  September. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Ursula,  our  help  has  come,  and  Gloucester 
is  saved !  I  can  but  write  hastily,  since  our  messenger  is 
to  set  off  to-night  with  the  letters,  and  Joscelyn  is  sending 
some  of  the  details  to  my  grandfather.  Yesterday  was  ap- 
pointed for  a  solemn  fast-day,  and  all  who  could  be  spared 
flocked  to  the  churches,  there  to  pray  for  God's  help.  We 


366 

had  hopes  that  succor  was  at  hand,  but  no  certainty,  and 
there  were  fears  as  to  the  encounter  between  his  Majesty's 
great  army  and  the  force  that  the  Parliament  was  sending 
to  our  aid.  Faith  and  I  went  to  church  in  the  morning, 
and  between  the  sermons  came  out  to  go  as  usual  to  the 
walls  with  food  for  Joscelyn,  he  not  being  strong  enough  to 
fast  in  the  sense  of  not  eating  food,  but  fasting  very  truly 
in  the  way  the  Prophet  Isaiah  spoke  of  —  striving  to  undo 
the  heavy  burdens  and  to  let  the  oppressed  go  free,  and  to 
loose  the  yoke  of  tyranny.  He  greeted  us  with  a  face 
whose  bright  hopefulness  told  its  own  tale,  and  drawing  me 
to  a  peep-hole  which  he  seldom  will  allow  me  so  much  as 
to  glance  through — some  few  of  the  citizens  having  lost 
their  lives  through  curiously  gazing  forth — he  bade  me  see 
what  had  come  to  pass.  Truly  it  was  a  strange  sight !  The 
Royalist  horse  and  foot  were  moving  off;  their  carriages 
from  Llanthony  were  struggling  up  Tredworth  field,  and 
the  whole  country  seemed  astir. 

"  Still,  we  were  not  sure  till  later  that  the  siege  was  really 
raised,  but  by-and-by,  when  Joscelyn  returned  for  the  night, 
he  told  us  that  the  enemy  had  withdrawn  their  men  from 
the  trenches  and  had  fired  their  huts,  and  that  a  good 
countryman  had  hastened  into  Gloucester  bringing  news 
that  my  Lord  Essex  had  conquered  Prince  Rupert  at  Stow, 
and  that  he  now  advanced  to  our  protection.  How  the 
people  shouted  for  joy,  and  how  we  all  thanked  God  for 
His  goodness,  you  will  understand.  A  great  south  wind 
had  sprung  up  while  we  were  in  church,  and  in  the  evening 
the  rain  came  down  in  torrents ;  such  a  storm  I  have  not 
seen  for  many  years,  and  as  in  the  night  we  lay  listening 
to  it,  I  could  not  but  think  of  the  psalm  that  tells  us  of 
the  *  wind  and  storm  fulfilling  his  word.'  Joscelyn  said  the 
King  could  not  possibly  have  stayed  longer  after  such  a 
tempest,  the  ground  being  turned  into  a  swamp.  But  the 


367 

sufferings  of  both  armies  must  have  been  terrible,  especially 
as  the  cold  was  very  great — more  like  winter  than  Septem- 
ber. We  have  been  besieged  a  month  and  three  days — 
the  longest  yet  not  the  least  happy  month  of  my  life  !  Only 
fifty  of  our  men  have  been  killed  ;  but  it  was  time  help 
came,  for  we  had  but  three  barrels  of  powder  left.  As  soon 
as  we  can  travel,  my  husband  will  take  us  home  to  Katter- 
ham,  Faith  coming  for  a  visit,  by  Christopher's  special  wish, 
until  the  times  are  more  quiet.  His  leg  is  well-nigh  healed. 
I  write  in  such  haste,  dear  Mrs.  Ursula,  that  you  will  scarce, 
I  fear,  read  the  scrawl,  but  the  messenger  must  set  forth. 
Farewell.  From  your  loving 

"CLEMENCY  HEYWORTH." 


CHAPTER    XXX 

The  only  way  to  find  comfort  in  an  earthly  thing  is  to  surrender  it 
(in  a  faithful  carelessness)  into  the  hands  of  God.  —  BISHOP  HALL'S 
CONTEMPLATIONS. 

AFTER  the  great  deliverance  of  that  5th  of  September  the 
"  City  assaulted  by  man  but  saved  by  God,"  as  it  hence- 
forth loved  to  designate  itself,  settled  down  into  compar- 
ative quiet.  Essex  and  the  brave  Londoners  who  had 
marched  through  so  many  perils  to  the  rescue  were  wel- 
comed with  joyous  demonstrations  on  the  8th  ;  but  their 
work  being  done,  they  were  eager  to  return  again,  and,  in 
truth,  the  city  and  the  desolated  country  around  could  not 
possibly  have  maintained  them  many  days.  When  they 
marched  on  to  Tewkesbury,  which  quickly  surrendered  to 
them,  Governor  Massey  had  time  to  consider  the  case  of 
Arthur  Denham,  and  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  Hop- 
ton  at  Bristol  suggesting  an  exchange  of  prisoners.  Two 
days  after  this  messenger  had  left  Gloucester,  Joscelyn  and 
Denham  received  a  summons  to  meet  Massey  at  his  quar- 
ters in  Greyfriars,  and,  repairing  thither  in  the  fading  light 
of  the  September  day,  found  the  governor  in  conversation 
with  two  officers.  In  the  distance  Joscelyn  quickly  noted 
that  one  of  them  wore  the  red  scarf  and  the  feather  denot- 
ing a  Royalist,  but  it  was  not  till  he  had  approached  quite 
near  that  he  recognized  a  familiar  figure,  and  with  an  excla- 
mation of  delight  sprang  forward. 

"Dick!"  he  cried;  "Dick,  you  are  indeed  recovered, 
then  ?" 

"  Alive  and  well,  thanks  to  you,"  said  Dick,  warmly  wel- 


369 

coming  him.  "  We  had  well-nigh  given  you  up  for  lost, 
though.  'Twas  only  yesterday,  in  Governor  Massey's  let- 
ter, that  we  learned  you  were  alive." 

"You  have  been  worse  off,  then,"  said  Joscelyn ;  "for  I 
had  tidings  of  your  being  safely  housed  at  Marshfield,  and 
just  before  the  siege  sent  my  servant  there  to  ask  how  you 
did,  but  by  then  you  had  left,  and  they  knew  not  at  the 
farm  where  you  had  gone." 

"  I  had  left  to  join  my  father  at  Wells.  He  had  recovered, 
and  we  went  thence  together  to  Bristol,"  said  Dick,  "  where 
Sir  Ralph — or  my  Lord  Hopton,  as  we  must  now  call  him — 
has,  to  keep  the  peace  and  put  an  end  to  quarrels  and  fac- 
tions among  us,  consented  to  be  lieutenant-governor  under 
Prince  Rupert.  Very  scurvily  they  have  treated  him,  to  my 
mind,  but  he  would  cut  off  his  right  hand  to  serve  the  King, 
and  if  peace-makers  be  blest  (though,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
they  have  a  confounded  hard  time  of  it),  he  ought  to  be 
happy." 

"  He  is  one  of  your  noblest  men,"  said  Joscelyn  heartily. 
"  How  is  he  recovered  of  the  hurt  he  got  at  Lansdown  ?" 

"  Ha  !  that  confounded  explosion  !  'Twas  that  finished 
us  off,"  said  Dick,  "  and  laid  us  both  there  like  a  couple  of 
dead  men  when  they  carried  me  off  the  field.  They  never 
thought  my  Lord  Hopton  could  recover ;  for  days  he  could 
not  see,  and  could  scarce  hear,  yet  he  contrived  at  Devizes 
to  give  orders  from  his  bed,  and  while  lying  there  hit  on  a 
clever  contrivance  of  making  all  the  citizens  cut  off  their  bed- 
cords  for  match,  that  being  badly  needed  for  the  defence. 
Afterwards  they  got  him  to  Bristol,  and  he  is  now  fast  re- 
covering, and  well-nigh  himself  again." 

"  How  about  an  exchange  for  Arthur  Denham  ?" 

"  Governor  Massey  consents  to  the  change  proposed  by 
Lord  Hopton,  and  I  have  ridden  over  here  with  Captain 
Black,  who  was  made  prisoner  at  Roundway  Down." 
24 


370 

"  That  is  well,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  look  of  relief.  "  Sorry 
enough  shall  I  be  to  lose  my  friend,  but  he  hath  chafed 
grievously  at  his  long  idleness.  How  is  my  father  ?" 

"  Quite  recovered ;  but  he  has  been  full  of  trouble  about 
you.  Your  exploit  on  Lansdown  moved  him  greatly,  so  that 
to  this  day  he  cannot  speak  your  name  steadily." 

"  You  must  tell  him  of  my  marriage,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  I 
will  write  him  a  letter." 

"What!"  cried  Dick,  "you  a  Benedick  already?  What 
else  have  you  crammed  in  betwixt  this  and  your  Lansdown 
adventure  ?  A  miraculous  disappearance  from  the  field,  a 
journey  to  the  gates  of  death  and  back  again,  a  noteworthy 
siege  in  this  fair  city,  and  a  visit  to  Katterham  to  wed  pretty 
Mistress  Clemency!" 

"Nay,  no  journey  to  Katterham.  Clemency  was  here, 
and  we  were  wedded  by  Mr.  Whichcote  shortly  before  the 
siege  of  Gloucester  began.  You  must  come  to  College 
Green  now  and  see  her;  of  course  you  do  not  return  to 
Bristol  to-night." 

And  so  Denham,  once  more  a  free  man,  and  Dick  and 
Joscelyn,  happy  as  a  couple  of  school-boys  at  this  unex- 
pected meeting,  walked  back  together,  and  a  very  merry 
evening  was  spent  in  the  gabled  house,  Clemency  looking 
her  loveliest  as  she  sat  listening  to  Dick's  account  of  the 
battle  of  Lansdown,  and  of  the  way  in  which  Joscelyn  had 
risked  his  life  to  save  him. 

"  How  false  it  is,"  she  exclaimed,  "  to  say  that  differing 
views  can  spoil  the  love  of  kinsmen." 

"  Yet  would  to  God  this  war  were  over !"  said  Dick, 
wearily.  "  Last  month  there  seemed  some  prospect  of  it ; 
but  now — I  know  not !" 

"  Last  month,"  said  Joscelyn,  "when  our  prospects  looked 
black  as  night,  you  promised  me,  Denham,  that  when  the 
game  was  over  for  me  you  would  do  what  you  could  for  my 


37i 

wife.  Now  let  us  have  one  promise  more.  Promise  me 
that  if  at  any  time  either  you  and  your  people,  or  you,  Dick, 
and  my  father  and  Jervis,  find  yourselves  in  any  strait,  that 
you  will  let  me  serve  you  to  the  best  of  my  power." 

And  gravely  they  pledged  themselves  to  this,  looking  far 
less  confidently  towards  the  future  than  they  had  done  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war.  The  next  day  the  two  brothers 
again  parted,  and  as  soon  as  Christopher  Bennett  could  ar- 
range for  his  temporary  absence  from  home,  the  journey  to 
Katterham  was  undertaken. 

Joscelyn  was  not  only  extremely  anxious  to  take  his  wife 
to  a  more  sheltered  part  of  the  country,  but  he  was  eager 
to  rejoin  Sir  William  Waller,  and  to  serve  again  under  the 
general  whose  failure  at  Roundway  Down  had  in  no  way 
affected  his  reputation  with  any  who  really  knew  him. 

On  Monday,  the  25th  of  September,  the  small  cavalcade 
set  out  from  College  Green,  Christopher  Bennett  and  Faith 
attended  by  two  grooms,  Charlotte  Wells  mounted  on  a  pil- 
lion behind  Morrison,  and  Clemency  and  Joscelyn  bringing 
up  the  rear ;  for  now  their  play-time  had  begun,  and  this 
happy  journey  back  to  Katterham  was  to  be  the  idyl  of  their 
lives — the  wedding  journey,  all  the  sweeter  because  it  had 
been  a  little  delayed. 

The  only  road  open  to  them  was  a  circuitous  one  by 
Campden,  Warwick,  and  Newport-Pagnell,  but  they  were  in 
no  haste  to  have  the  travelling  shortened ;  very  sweet  to 
them  were  those  bright  autumnal  days,  for  they  were  filled 
with  the  heart's-ease  that  Mr.  Whichcote  had  spoken  of  as 
they  waited  in  the  cloisters  of  Gloucester  on  their  wedding 
morning. 

Their  first  resting-place  was  Cheltenham,  a  pretty  little 
country  town,  where  they  were  hospitably  entertained  by 
some  of  Mr.  Bennett's  friends,  a  fine-looking  old  Puritan 
and  his  wife,  who  made  much  of  the  young  bride  and  bride- 


372 

groom,  enjoying  in  their  quiet  way  the  unwonted  atmos- 
phere of  youth  and  happiness.  Clemency  always  retained 
a  pleasant  memory  of  the  evening  meal  there  and  the  kindly 
talk  of  the  old  lady  and  her  husband.  Supper  being  ended, 
she  was  left  unmolested  to  wander  about  the  dusky  garden 
with  Joscelyn,  and  very  strange  it  seemed  in  that  peaceful 
spot  to  speak  of  the  sufferings  of  the  troops  that  had 
marched  from  London  with  Essex,  and  of  the  great  battle 
fought  a  few  days  before  at  Newbury  between  the  King  and 
his  Excellency. 

"  They  call  it  a  victory  for  us,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  but  by  all 
accounts  'twas  bought  at  a  heavy  price.  His  Excellency 
made  a  safe  return  to  London,  yet  was  his  army  sorely 
shattered  by  the  enemy." 

"  They,  too,  suffered  great  loss,"  said  Clemency,  "  and 
what  we  heard  just  now  of  my  Lord  Falkland's  death  was 
grievously  sad.  The  best  and  noblest  on  either  side  seem 
the  soonest  taken." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  sigh,  thinking  of  the 
death  he  had  witnessed  after  the  fight  at  Chalgrove ;  "  but 
yet  this  news  of  my  Lord  Falkland  seems  not  to  me  wholly 
mournful.  He  wished  for  death ;  his  heart  was  broken  by 
the  misery  of  this  civil  war.  He  was  leagued  with  those 
whom  he  could  not  in  his  heart  approve ;  he  was  opposed 
to  those  whose  councils  he  had  once  shared.  Clearly  he 
longed  for  death  as  a  deliverer  from  a  position  that  had 
grown  intolerable.  With  Colonel  Hampden  how  different 
was  the  case  !  He  was  snatched  away  by  death  at  the  very 
moment  when  it  seemed  likely  that  he  would  be  raised  to 
the  highest  post,  at  the  very  time  when  his  desire  to  serve 
the  cause  was  the  most  keen,  because  the  crisis  was  desper- 
ate. Think  what  his  counsel  and  help  would  have  been 
through  these  three  months,  how  his  zeal  would  have  seized 
on  this  advantage  and  brought  things  to  a  speedy  and  happy 


373 

issue !  If  he  could  return  but  for  a  year,  think  what  he 
might  not  now  accomplish  !" 

"  Do  you  remember,"  Clemency  said,  "  the  maid  who 
was  killed  at  Gloucester  the  day  after  the  siege  began  ?  It 
seemed  to  me,  when  the  poor  mother  begged  me  to  see  her 
corpse,  that  a  death  by  violence  like  that  was  a  horrible 
thing,  to  be  shrunk  from  and  feared  as  though  it  came  of 
the  devil  and  not  of  God.  But  when  we  looked  on  her 
face  it  was  just  as  calm  and  peaceful  as  the  face  of  Faith's 
little  dead  babe.  Surely,  even  the  saddest  death,  the  death 
that  seems  a  cruel  mistake,  cannot  snatch  the  ordering  of 
all  things  from  God's  hand.  If  we  are  free  to  break  His 
laws  or  keep  them,  yet  we  are  not  our  own,  but  His,  and  He 
must  surely  bring  good  in  the  end,  even  out  of  ill." 

Joscelyn  did  not  answer,  but  just  stooped  silently  to  kiss 
the  sweet  lips  that  had  tried  to  comfort  him.  And  as  the 
dew  fell  noiselessly,  and  in  the  darkening  sky  the  stars 
shone  out  one  by  one,,  there  stole  into  his  heart  a  quiet 
strength  that  stilled  the  restless  grief  and  questioning  which 
often  during  the  war  would  rise  like  troubled  waves  within 
him. 

Early  next  morning  they  set  forth  for  Campden,  their 
host  and  his  wife  bidding  them  godspeed,  and  presenting 
the  bride  with  a  quaintly  shaped  silver  vinaigrette  to  hang 
at  her  girdle. 

Even  the  ravages  of  war  could  not  wholly  mar  the  beau- 
tiful country  through  which  they  journeyed,  and  in  the  light 
of  their  own  exquisite  happiness  they  saw  those  fair  English 
scenes :  the  hills  and  valleys  of  Gloucestershire,  the  rich 
woods  and  streams  of  Warwickshire,  the  homely  pastoral 
country  beyond.  Riding  together  day  by  day  over  long 
stretches  of  open  heath,  where  the  bracken  gleamed  orange- 
tawny  amid  the  ling  and  heather,  or  traversing  some  rough 
road  bordered  by  hedges  where  traveller's  joy  hung  in 


374 

feathery  garlands  and  bryony  berries  gleamed  ruddily,  and 
brambles  were  laden  with  tempting  clusters  of  blackberries, 
they  journeyed  homeward  in  a  happy  dream  that  refused  to 
be  spoiled  by  sorrows  or  dangers  whether  in  the  past  or  in 
the  future. 

Then  there  were  merry  discussions  when  they  paused  to 
bait  the  horses  and  to  get  food  at  the  villages  they  passed 
through ;  and  Faith,  whose  spirits  had  wonderfully  revived, 
much  enjoyed  her  role  of  experienced  matron,  and  loved  to 
tease  the  newly-wedded  couple  and  to  call  forth  from  her 
grave  husband  an  irrepressible  burst  of  laughter.  Delight- 
ful, too,  was  the  arrival  each  evening  at  a  fresh  hostlery, 
where  invariably  the  landlord  and  landlady  gave  kindly 
welcome,  seeming  to  take  a  special  care  of  the  whole 
party,  who  certainly  had  the  gift  of  winning  hearts. 

But  most  delightful  of  all  was  the  actual  home-coming  at 
the  close  of  a  bright  afternoon  in  October. 

As  they  rode  past  Coulsdon  Church  and  across  the  com- 
mon, Joscelyn  spoke  of  the  well-remembered  summer  day 
when  he  had  ridden  that  way  with  Dick,  making  his  bride 
blush  deliciously  as  he  described  his  first  vision  of  her 
when  she  stepped  from  the  coach  at  the  time  of  his  acci- 
dent. 

The  setting  sun  was  flooding  the  land  with  light,  the 
quiet  little  village  of  Katterham  seemed  suddenly  to  awake 
from  sleep  as  the  travellers  rode  by,  and  Clemency  and 
Faith  waved  friendly  greetings  to  one  and  another  of  the 
familiar  faces  that  peered  out  at  them  from  doors  and  case- 
ments ;  while,  as  for  Charlotte,  she  was  so  pursued  by  the 
village  children  with  welcoming  shouts  that  had  not  Morri- 
son held  the  reins,  and  gone  steadily  forward,  it  is  doubtful 
whether  she  would  have  reached  the  Court-house  that 
night. 

Clemency's  breath  came  quickly  as  she  gazed  over  the 


375 

park  palings,  as  she  once  more  caught  sight  of  the  pond 
and  the  graveyard  and  the  little  church,  pausing  at  the 
gate,  and,  after  eager  questions  from  the  lodge-keeper,  rid- 
ing up  to  the  house  itself.  There  it  stood,  the  dear  familiar 
old  place,  with  the  great  rounded  box-bushes  at  either  side 
of  the  door  ;  there  was  the  entrance-court  and  the  little  gate 
and  the  posts,  with  their  great  white  balls,  at  which  she  had 
stared  so  miserably  during  the  attack  on  the  house,  when 
Joscelyn  had  passed  out  to  an  unknown  danger  and  she  had 
first  realized  her  love.  And  there  was  dear  Mrs.  Ursula 
running  lightly  across  the  court-yard  as  though  she  had 
been  a  girl,  and  lifting  her  off  the  pillion,  and  clasping  her 
in  a  close  embrace. 

"  Dear,  dear  Mrs.  Ursula !"  she  cried,  clinging  to  her. 
"  How  different  it  all  is — how  beautifully  different  to  when 
we  parted !" 

And  Mrs.  Ursula,  though  she  did  not  altogether  approve 
of  men,  made  an  exception  in  favor  of  the  young  husband, 
who  stooped  to  kiss  her  hand  with  a  courtesy  which  no 
woman  could  have  been  proof  against,  and  together  they 
all  approached  the  open  door,  where  Sir  Robert  stood  to 
welcome  them,  with  the  children  grouped  behind  him,  eager 
to  press  forward  and  snatch  the  first  kiss,  but  restrained  by 
pretty  Hester,  who  bade  them  remember  their  manners  and 
be  patient. 

That  evening,  when  the  whole  household  met  together 
for  prayers,  old  Sir  Robert,  instead  of  reading  as  usual  a 
lengthy  chapter  from  one  of  the  prophets,  turned  to  the 
i2ist  psalm,  and  glad  tears  started  to  Clemency's  eyes  as 
she  heard  him  read  in  unsteady  tones  the  verse,  "  The  Lord 
shall  preserve  thy  going  out  and  thy  coming  in,  from  this 
time  forth,  and  even  for  evermore." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

He  is  not  a  freeman  that  can  do  what  he  will,  but  he  that  will  do 
what  he  should. — SIR  WILLIAM  WALLER. 

ALL  these  months  Original  Sin  Smith  had  been  occupy- 
ing a  post  of  some  importance  under  the  Governor  of  Farn- 
ham  Castle,  and,  being  a  man  of  considerable  force  of  char- 
acter, he  had  gained  great  influence  in  the  garrison.  There 
was  about  him  a  certain  genuineness  of  devotion  to  the  Par- 
liamentary cause,  and  yet  personal  ambition  had  so  large  a 
share  in  his  motives  that  it  was  likely  enough  he  would 
prove  but  a  fair  weather  friend  to  his  party.  No  one,  how- 
ever, watching  him  on  All-hallows  Eve  as  he  warmed  him- 
self beside  the  hearth  in  the  great  hall  of  the  castle,  would 
have  guessed  that  this  sombre,  sour-faced  man,  with  his 
cropped  head  and  his  ostentatious  piety,  was  all  the  time 
dreaming  of  a  fair,  girlish  face  framed  in  soft  waving  curls 
of  dusky  chestnut  hair,  and  that  when  he  prayed,  as  he  very 
frequently  did,  for  the  destruction  of  his  enemies,  he  thought 
not  of  armed  hosts  at  war  with  the  Parliament,  but  of  one 
yellow-haired  warrior  in  the  Puritan  ranks.  Joscelyn  had 
thwarted  the  hopes  which  for  years  Original  had  secretly 
cherished,  spite  of  the  difference  in  rank  between  the  yeo- 
man's son  and  the  granddaughter  of  Sir  Robert  Neal;  a 
difference  so  clearly  marked  in  those  days  that  no  one  had 
dreamed  of  suspecting  the  tutor's  secret  passion. 

The  castle  clock  had  struck  twelve,  but  Original  still  kept 
watch  beside  the  hearth.  Tidings  had  been  brought  that 
Sir  William  Waller  would  arrive  that  night  at  Farnham  with 
some  of  his  troops  of  horse,  his  own  foot  regiment,  and  some 


DREAMING   OF   A   FAIR,   GIRLISH    FACE." 


[Page  376- 


377 

of  the  London  trainbands.  It  was  long  since  anything 
definite  had  been  heard  of  Joscelyn  Heyworth,  and  Original, 
as  he  stared  with  absent  eyes  into  the  glowing  embers,  hoped 
and  prayed  that  in  the  arduous  campaign  in  the  west  his 
rival  might  have  been  conveniently  disposed  of.  Many,  in- 
deed, must  have  been  his  chances  of  death  since  that  win- 
ter's night  when  he  had  left  the  castle  and  had  marched  off 
in  the  darkness  to  the  siege  of  Winchester.  Surely  Provi- 
dence might  have  removed  from  his  path  this  upstart  new- 
comer, this  adventurer  who  had  presumed  to  become  be- 
trothed to  Clemency  Coriton.  The  clock  struck  one,  and 
soon  after  that  the  sound  of  a  bugle  was  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance. Original  started  to  his  feet,  and,  quitting  the  hall, 
took  up  his  position  at  the  open  doorway  at  the  head  of  the 
steps  which  led  down  through  the  deep  castle  porch.  From 
the  town  below  rose  the  sound  of  many  voices  and  the 
trampling  of  horsemen  mounting  the  castle  hill,  while  from 
a  greater  distance  there  rose  on  the  night  air  a  familiar 
psalm  tune ;  he  knew  it  was  the  one  to — 

"Avenge  and  judge  my  cause,  O  Lord, 
From  them  that  evil  be." 

With  intense  bitterness  he  prayed  from  his  heart  for  Hey- 
worth's  destruction.  The  night  wind  was  piercingly  cold, 
yet  it  was  not  this  which  made  Original  shiver  as  he  stood 
waiting  beside  the  governor.  At  last,  mounting  the  steps 
between  the  flaring  links  held  by  some  of  the  garrison,  he 
saw  the  well-known  figure  of  Sir  William  Waller,  his  fine 
black  eyes  keenly  scanning  the  group  of  officers  waiting  to 
receive  him.  Original  was  fain  to  make  his  greeting,  then 
he  looked  apprehensively  towards  those  who  accompanied 
Waller,  and  had  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  his  rival 
was  not  present,  when  the  general  turned  quickly  round  as 
though  searching  for  some  one. 


378 

"  Where  is  Captain  Heyworth  ?"  he  asked. 

"  He  is  now  coming,  sir,"  said  Captain  Levit ;  "  he  waited 
but  to  order  a  bran  mash  for  his  horse." 

Original  set  his  teeth  hard,  for  the  officer  had  scarcely 
ended,  when,  between  the  lane  of  torches,  there  strode  the 
lithe,  active  figure  of  Joscelyn  Heyworth.  Time,  and  the 
hard  campaign  he  had  been  through,  with  all  the  griefs  and 
joys  of  the  most  eventful  year  of  his  life,  had  wonderfully 
developed  him ;  but  this  only  increased  Original's  hatred, 
and  it  was  with  torturing  jealousy  that  he  watched  the  easy 
grace  of  his  foe's  manner  when  he  was  greeted  by  the  gov- 
ernor, and  the  quiet  modesty  of  his  bearing  when  George 
Wither  made  some  allusion  to  his  past  services  with  regard 
to  Farnham  Castle. 

In  another  minute  Joscelyn  had  perceived  the  ex-tutor, 
and  had  stepped  towards  him  with  frank  and  friendly  greeting. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  from  your  home, 
and  am  charged  with  many  messages  to  you  from  Sir  Rob- 
ert Neal  and  the  children.  My  wife  also  asked  me  to  re- 
member her  to  you." 

"  Your  wife  ?"  gasped  Original. 

At  any  other  time  his  hoarse  voice  and  the  strangeness  of 
his  manner  would  have  attracted  Joscelyn's  notice,  but  his 
thoughts  had  wandered  off  to  the  Court-house,  which  he 
had  quitted  only  a  few  days  before,  and  for  a  moment  he 
could  think  of  nothing  but  of  the  bitterness  of  separation 
from  Clemency. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  dreamily,  "  my  wife."  Then,  the  word 
recalling  him  to  himself,  and  his  hopeful  nature  recovering 
from  the  momentary  depression,  his  eyes  lighted  up  with 
the  brilliant  smile  which  made  people  think  him  so  like  his 
father.  "  I  had  forgot,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  of  course  you  have 
had  no  tidings  of  late.  We  were  married  at  Gloucester 
shortly  before  the  siege." 


379 

Original  was  spared  a  reply,  for  the  governor  at  that  mo- 
ment summoned  him  to  his  side,  but  the  hatred  which  had 
been  smouldering  within  him  so  long  broke  out  now  into  a 
devouring  flame,  and  he  began  not  only  to  wish  and  pray 
for  Joscelyn's  death,  but  secretly  to  plan  how  it  might  be 
contrived. 

The  next  day  the  yellow  auxiliaries  of  the  Tower  Ham- 
lets, the  Westminster  auxiliaries,  the  company  of  bluecoats, 
together  with  the  four  companies  of  the  castle  garrison — 
forming  in  all  twenty-nine  columns  of  foot  companies,  and 
supplemented  by  some  troops  of  horse  and  dragoons — were 
mustered  in  Farnham  Park.  It  was  a  striking  scene,  but 
Joscelyn,  as  he  looked  at  the  gay  uniforms  massed  beneath 
the  stately  trees  whose  autumn  foliage  vied  in  brightness 
with  the  orange  scarfs  of  the  Puritans,  felt  sad  at  heart. 
A  council  of  war  had  been  held  that  morning,  and  a  clerk 
belonging  to  Sir  William's  foot  regiment  had  been  con- 
demned to  death  for  trying  to  raise  a  mutiny.  For  ex- 
ample's sake,  the  man  had  just  been  hanged  on  one  of  the 
trees  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  army. 

"A  hateful  sight,"  he  remarked  to  Original  Smith,  as 
they  walked  together  down  the  avenue  and  returned  to  the 
castle. 

"  So  let  all  thy  enemies  perish,  O  God,"  said  Original, 
fervently,  and  there  was  in  his  gray  eyes  so  fierce  a  gleam 
of  cruel  enjoyment  that  Joscelyn  recoiled  ;  it  seemed  to  him, 
for  a  moment,  that  he  was  looking,  not  at  a  fellow-man,  but 
at  a  fiend. 

It  chanced  that  autumn  that  the  two  men  were  much 
thrown  together.  Original  was  present,  with  such  men  as 
could  be  spared  from  the  Farnham  garrison,  at  the  unsuc- 
cessful attack  made  by  Waller  upon  Basing  House  ;  and  that 
enterprise  failing,  Waller  returned  to  Farnham,  which  for 
some  time  became  his  headquarters,  the  town  being  by  his 


orders  strengthened  by  such  earthworks  and  fortifications 
as  could  be  most  readily  made. 

Now  all  through  his  life  Joscetyn  had  been  beset  by  one 
decided  weakness,  one  fault  which  marred  an  otherwise  fine 
character ;  he  had  inherited  many  of  his  father's  good  qual- 
ities, but  he  had  also  inherited  his  father's  intense  love  of 
popularity.  True,  the  discipline  of  the  last  twelve  months, 
the  divine  call  which  had  made  it  his  duty  to  espouse  the 
Parliamentary  cause  and  to  cast  his  lot  with  those  whom  it 
was  the  fashion  to  deride,  had,  to  a  great  extent,  cured  him  ; 
but  he  was  far,  as  yet,  from  being  indifferent,  even  to  the 
opinion  of  those  whom  he  had  no  special  reason  for  liking. 
From  such  a  man  it  was  impossible  that  Original's  bitter 
hatred  and  contempt  should  remain  long  concealed.  It  was 
impossible  for  him  to  ignore  the  ex-tutor's  dislike  ;  it  chafed 
him  continually,  and  it  greatly  perplexed  him.  He  had  gone 
out  of  his  way  many  a  time  to  show  kindness  to  a  man  con- 
nected with  Katterham,  and  the  true  cause  of  Original's  ha- 
tred never  occurred  to  him.  Sometimes  he  fancied  that  the 
Puritan  considered  him  no  true  Parliamentarian  at  heart, 
and  believed  that  he  would  return  to  the  views  held  by  his 
father.  At  other  times  he  thought  his  religious  opinions 
were  mistrusted.  Finding  it  impossible  to  conciliate  Origi- 
nal, he  tried  as  far  as  might  be  to  avoid  him.  But  Original 
seemed  ubiquitous.  Whenever  Joscelyn  joined  one  of  the 
deer-stalking  parties  in  the  Holt  forest,  Original  also  joined 
it,  and  did  his  best  to  spoil  the  pleasure  of  the  chase.  When 
he  went  into  the  town  to  visit  some  old  acquaintance  he 
was  sure  to  fall  foul  of  Original,  and  to  be  burdened  with 
his  company;  and  in  the  very  church  itself  it  was  impos- 
sible to  avoid  the  near  neighborhood  of  the  sour-look- 
ing fanatic,  though  his  presence  there  was  particularly 
trying,  as  he  had  a  habit  of  expressing  his  feelings  in 
fervent  ejaculations,  and  of  humming  approval  in  a  way 


which  sometimes  annoyed  Joscelyn  and  sometimes  upset 
his  gravity. 

Had  the  work  been  of  a  very  absorbing  nature  these 
petty  annoyances  would  have  been  easily  overlooked,  but 
the  weeks  passed  without  any  special  event,  and  though 
there  were  occasional  alarms  that  Hopton  was  marching 
upon  Farnham,  and  an  attack  on  the  castle  was  expected, 
it  never  came  off.  Once,  towards  the  end  of  November, 
Hopton's  forces  appeared  on  a  hill  about  a  mile  off,  and 
the  two  armies  stood  facing  each  other,  Waller  endeavoring 
to  draw  them  on  by  every  means  in  his  power,  but  without 
success ;  a  few  shots  fired  from  the  castle  drove  them  off, 
and  they  retired,  having  lost  only  fifteen  men.  About  this 
time  Waller  made  a  hurried  journey  to  London  to  make  ar- 
rangements with  regard  to  his  army,  and  during  his  absence 
news  reached  Farnham  that  Arundel,  which  had  been  very 
imperfectly  garrisoned,  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Lord 
Hopton. 

A  few  hours  before,  the  grievous  intelligence  of  Pym's 
death  had  been  received,  and  in  the  face  of  such  serious 
tidings  all  personal  and  petty  annoyances  were  lost  sight  of. 
A  new  spirit  seemed  to  animate  the  men  when  Waller  re- 
turned accompanied  by  Sir  William  Balfour  with  a  thousand 
horse,  and  Joscelyn's  spirits  rose  when  once  more  he  found 
himself  marching  under  his  well-loved  leader.  The  castle 
clock  had  tolled  twelve  when  in  the  dark  December  night 
the  Parliamentary  forces  set  out  to  surprise  the  Royalists, 
who,  under  Lord  Crawford,  were  quartered  at  Alton,  a  little 
town  some  eight  miles  distant. 

"  We  will  give  the  good  general  another  sort  of  sack  to- 
night," said  Waller,  laughing.  "  He  will  scarce  have  time 
to  finish  the  hogshead  which  he  sent  to  ask  for  the  other 
day." 

Some  amusement  had  been  caused  at  Farnham  by  Lord 


382 

Crawford's  modest  petition  for  a  cask  of  sack  from  the  bish- 
op's cellars.  Waller,  with  his  customary  courtesy,  had  sent 
the  wine,  and  being  himself  a  man  of  singularly  frugal  hab- 
its and  simple  tastes,  had  secretly  laughed  at  the  bon-vivant 
who  had  pocketed  his  pride  to  make  such  a  request.  Long 
before  it  was  light  on  the  morning  of  the  i3th  of  December, 
Alton  was  surrounded  ;  Lord  Crawford  fled,  after  a  slight 
resistance,  carrying  the  tidings  of  their  defeat  to  Hopton  at 
Winchester,  while  the  more  noble-minded  and  gallant  Colo- 
nel Boles,  rinding  himself  in  desperate  case,  drew  his  men 
into  Alton  Church,  and  there  made  a  spirited  but  vain  at- 
tempt to  hold  the  building  till  help  should  come  to  him. 

It  chanced  that  some  of  the  garrison  from  Farnham  Cas- 
tle who  took  a  prominent  share  in  that  night's  work  were 
among  those  who  forced  their  way  the  soonest  into  the  im- 
perfectly barricaded  door  of  the  church.  Waller,  anxious 
as  ever  to  save  bloodshed,  sent  prompt  orders  that  quarter 
was  to  be  offered,  and  Joscelyn,  forcing  Hotspur  with  diffi- 
culty into  the  melee,  delivered  the  general's  message,  and 
was  thankful  to  see  that  the  Royalists,  aware  that  resistance 
was  hopeless,  laid  down  their  arms.  Colonel  Boles  himself, 
however,  refused  to  yield,  and,  fighting  very  gallantly,  he 
was  at  last  overpowered,  falling  dead  on  the  stones  of  the 
church,  his  blood  mingling  with  that  of  the  Parliamentari- 
ans whose  lives  he  had  just  taken.  Sad  as  were  the  scenes 
which  Joscelyn  had  witnessed  during  the  war,  few  seemed 
to  him  sadder  than  that  desperate  and  brave  resistance  in  a 
church  which  he  well  remembered  in  past  days.  He  looked 
round  the  familiar  walls  with  a  greater  craving  for  peace 
than  he  had  ever  before  felt. 

As  his  eye  travelled  over  the  scene  of  wild  confusion,  he 
suddenly  perceived  a  sight  which  filled  him  with  astonish- 
ment. Original  Smith,  partly  concealed  by  a  pillar,  stood 
with  his  musket  deliberately  aimed  at  him.  There  was  time 


383 

only  to  throw  himself  forward  on  Hotspur's  neck,  and  in- 
stantly a  bullet  whistled  past,  shattering  a  window  just  be- 
yond. Furious  at  what  seemed  to  be  a  piece  of  deliberate 
treachery,  he  confronted  the  ex-tutor. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?"  he  said,  sharply,  looking 
with  angry  eyes  into  the  strangely  distorted  face  of  his  en- 
emy. 

"  I  crave  your  pardon,"  said  Original,  with  a  great  show 
of  surprise  and  regret.  "  I  aimed  at  yonder  popish  paint- 
ing of  the  Crucifixion.  The  light  is  still  dim.  I  did  not 
observe  you." 

His  manner  was  strange,  his  eyes  wild.  Joscelyn  turned 
away  without  a  word. 

"  Either,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  that  fellow  is  drunk, 
or  he  is  losing  his  wits,  or  else  he  deliberately  intended  to 
shoot  me.  The  painted  glass  was  but  an  excuse.  Were  it 
not  for  the  fear  of  making  them  anxious  at  the  Court-house 
I  would  ask  Sir  Robert  Neal  whether  he  is,  indeed,  well  as- 
sured of  the  man's  good  faith.  But  I'll  not  risk  a  question, 
lest  it  should  come  to  Clemency's  ears  and  make  her  anx- 
ious." Then,  dismounting,  he  helped  some  of  the  men  to 
remove  with  all  reverence  the  body  of  Colonel  Boles,  think- 
ing to  himself  how  infinitely  an  honorable  foe  was  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  a  doubtfully  honorable  friend. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

How  many  other  things  might  be  tolerated  in  peace  and  left  to  con- 
science had  we  but  charity,  and  were  it  not  the  chief  stronghold  of  our 
hypocrisy  to  be  ever  judging  one  another. — MILTON. 

THE  eight  hundred  and  seventy-five  prisoners  taken  at 
Alton  were  marched  back  to  Farnham,  but  Waller's  brow, 
in  spite  of  his  success,  was  clouded  with  care  as  that  even- 
ing he  sat  in  his  room  at  the  castle,  writing  a  despatch  to 
Parliament,  and  dictating  various  notes  of  lesser  import  to 
Joscelyn.  Sir  Arthur  Hazlerigg,  who  had  now  recovered 
from  the  dangerous  wound  he  had  received  at  Roundway 
Down,  and  had  rejoined  his  faithful  friend  and  companion 
towards  the  end  of  November,  entered  the  room  just  as  the 
day's  writing  was  nearly  completed. 

"What  of  the  prisoners?"  asked  Sir  William,  looking  up. 

"  Between  five  and  six  hundred  of  them  have  taken  the 
Covenant,"  replied  Hazlerigg.  "What  the  promise  is  worth 
under  the  circumstances  I  can't  say,  being  myself  a  good 
judge  of  horses  but  a  poor  judge  of  men.  They  have  taken 
it,  however,  and  are  ready  to  serve  in  your  army,  and  to 
march  to  Arundel  with  you." 

Sir  William  made  an  impatient  ejaculation. 

"The  Puritan  trainbands  have  refused  to  march  a  step 
farther,"  he  said,  bitterly.  "Was  ever  general  expected 
before  to  work  with  such  tools  ?  Mark  my  words,  Hazle- 
rigg, unless  the  army  can  be  entirely  remodelled,  all  our 
efforts  will  be  frustrated.  These  citizen  soldiers  fight  gal- 
lantly enough  at  times,  but  they  are  not  to  be  relied  on ; 
they  will  none  of  them  march  any  distance  from  their  homes 


385 

or  endure  any  long  or  difficult  campaign.  I  have  never  had 
a  decent  army  to  work  with.  It  has  been  taken  to  pieces 
and  put  together  again  like  a  Dutch  clock.  Who  knows 
that  these  turncoats  who  have  so  willingly  swallowed  the 
Covenant  may  not  change  their  minds  again  when  they  see 
Royalist  guns  pointed  at  them  ?  Far  rather  would  I  have 
one  scrupulous  man  who  hesitates  and  weighs  well  the  for 
and  against  of  the  matter,  like  Captain  Heyworth." 

"  What !  you  have  not  yet  taken  it  ?"  said  Sir  Arthur, 
turning  in  some  surprise  towards  the  young  officer.  "I 
think  that  may  account  for  the  ill-natured  tales  of  you  that 
the  worthy  Original  Sin  was  pouring  into  my  ear  but  now. 
That  man  is  no  friend  to  you.  Do  not  give  him  so  fair  a 
ground  for  accusing  you  of  lukewarmness  in  the  cause, 
and  of  paving  your  way  for  a  return  to  your  father  and 
brothers." 

"  Does  he  accuse  me  of  that !"  said  Joscelyn,  his  eyes 
flashing.  "Then  truly  I  will  delay  no  longer,  but  take  the 
Covenant  forthwith.  I  did  but  hesitate  because  it  seemed 
to  me  likely  to  prove  rather  a  barrier  to  a  wide  toleration 
than  a  uniting  bond  to  draw  us  one  to  the  other." 

"  Many  of  the  independent  party  feel  with  you  there," 
said  Sir  William  Waller,  thoughtfully,  "but  I  would  you 
could  have  heard  Nye's  address  in  St.  Margaret's  Church 
when  we  of  the  House  of  Commons  together  with  the  As- 
sembly of  Divines  took  the  Covenant.  'Twas  not  meant, 
he  said,  in  any  way  to  bind  us  to  a  servile  imitation  of  the 
Church  of  Scotland  ;  it  was  but  to  league  us  together  in  the 
great  work  of  reformation ;  and  if,  said  he — to  the  churches 
of  Scotland  or  to  any  other  church  or  person — it  hath  been 
given  better  to  have  learned  Christ  in  any  of  His  ways  than 
any  of  us,  we  shall  humbly  bow  and  kiss  their  lips  that  can 
speak  right  words  to  us  in  this  matter,  and  help  us  unto  the 
nearest  uniformity  with  the  word  and  mind  of  Christ." 
25 


386 

Joscelyn  still  clung  to  the  idea  of  a  modified  episcopacy 
with  toleration  for  those  of  other  views,  and  Waller  well 
knew  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  It  was  known  that  a 
proposal  for  some  such  settlement  had  recently  been  made 
to  the  King,  but  Sir  William's  late  visit  to  London  had 
chanced  to  take  place  just  as  it  had  been  revealed  by  Colo- 
nel Mozley  that  the  King,  instead  of  refusing  or  definitely 
consenting  to  the  proposals,  was  merely  using  them  to  pro- 
mote an  intrigue  by  which  he  hoped  to  secure  the  Parlia- 
mentary garrison  of  Aylesbury.  Something  of  this  Waller, 
under  promise  of  secrecy,  revealed  now  to  the  young  officer, 
and  Joscelyn  felt  bitterly  enough  that  from  a  sovereign  as 
wily  as  Charles  nothing  was  to  be  hoped. 

"  Remember  the  example  of  your  dead  leader,"  said  Wal- 
ler. "  Personally  attached  to  the  Church  of  England,  and 
wishing  only  for  reform  of  certain  abuses  in  it,  Colonel 
Hampden  nevertheless  voted  for  the  Root  and  Branch  bill. 
Were  bishops,  as  perchance  one  day  they  may  be,  the  choice 
of  the  people,  or  chosen  by  one  elected  by  the  people,  it 
might  perchance  be  different.  But  they  are  at  present  the 
mere  instruments  of  a  despotic  king,  who  desires  to  retain 
them  not  only  because  he  deems  them  divinely  appointed, 
but  because  through  them  he  will  have  every  pulpit  in  the 
land  tuned  to  his  liking.  It  is  this  you  do  not  fully  grasp, 
yet  this  is  the  key  to  the  whole  difficulty.  The  King  will 
never  consent  to  be  shorn  of  such  supporters.  For  this  gen- 
eration modified  episcopacy  is  but  a  dream." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Joscelyn  took  the  Covenant, 
hoping  that  it  might  prove  itself  a  practical  step  towards 
that  union  which  was  so  grievously  needed.  Yet  in  common 
with  many  others  he  took  it  with  reluctance,  doubting  much 
whether,  as  Milton  afterwards  expressed  it,  "New  Presby- 
ter" might  not  prove  "Old  Priest  writ  large,"  and  impa- 
tiently longing  for  the  time  when  a  wide  toleration  might 


387 

become  possible,  and  the  old  liturgy  to  which  he  was  sin- 
cerely attached  be  sanctioned,  or  restored  with  but  slight 
alterations.  He  had  to  learn  the  lesson  most  difficult  for  all 
young  and  ardent  natures,  that  the  ideal  cannot  be  attained 
in  a  single  bound,  but  that  we  must  climb  to  it  steadily  step 
by  step.  Wiser  and  more  far-seeing  men  deemed  the  Solemn 
League  and  Covenant  a  political  necessity,  and  he  did  well 
to  sacrifice  his  personal  tastes,  and  to  hold  steadfastly  to 
that  party  which  worked  for  the  redemption  of  England 
from  kingly  tyranny  and  from  priestcraft. 

Blind  to  the  faults  of  his  own  party  he  had  never  been, 
and  they  were  destined  to  grow  more  and  more  apparent  as 
time  advanced.  But  Joscelyn  had  at  the  very  outset  of  the 
strife  taken  up  too  firm  a  ground  to  be  shaken.  As  a  mod- 
ern writer  has  well  remarked,  "  There  may  be  phantasms  of 
the  conscience  as  well  as  of  the  eye."  But  the  conviction 
that  it  had  been  his  duty  to  join  the  Parliamentary  ranks — 
that  even  at  the  cost  of  infinite  personal  sorrow  he  was 
bound  to  serve  the  cause— had  not  been  a  phantasm,  but 
had  been  in  harmony  with  all  that  he  knew  of  right  and 
truth  and  justice. 

It  was  well  indeed  that  his  consciousness  of  right,  his 
stern  sense  of  duty  was  firm  as  a  rock ;  had  it  been  other- 
wise he  could  never  have  endured  the  storms  that  were  to 
follow.  At  present  Original  Sin  remained  his  special  an- 
noyance, and  it  was  with  no  slight  sense  of  discomfort  that 
he  found  the  ex-tutor  joining  in  the  expedition  against 
Arundel  Castle.  The  London  trainbands  in  charge  of  the 
three  hundred  prisoners  who  had  refused  the  Covenant  left 
Farnham  at  nine  o'clock  on  Saturday  evening,  their  place 
being  speedily  filled  by  some  of  the  Kentish  trainbands 
and  a  regiment  of  dragoons.  These  having  arrived,  there 
was  no  longer  any  reason  for  delay,  and  Waller  arranged 
that  they  should  march  from  Farnham. 


388 

Halting  at  Haslemere  that  night,  at  Cowdrey  and  Mid- 
hurst  on  the  Monday,  they  reached  Arundel  Park  on  the 
Tuesday  night,  assaulted  and  took  the  town  after  a  two 
hours'  attack  on  the  Wednesday,  and  having  beaten  the 
enemy  into  the  castle,  entered  the  first  gate  after  them,  and 
took  up  their  position  before  the  second  gate,  which  the 
Royalists  had  been  able  to  make  good.  Then,  in  the  cold 
of  that  bleak  December,  began  a  tedious  siege. 

Wearied  with  the  march,  the  horses  being  so  "  hackneyed 
out "  that,  as  Waller  said,  "  they  were  ready  to  lie  down  " 
under  the  riders,  faint  for  want  of  food,  and  worn  with 
sleeplessness,  Joscelyn  for  the  first  time  realized  that  his 
powers  of  endurance  were  not  what  they  had  been  before 
the  battle  of  Lansdown.  The  bitter  north  wind  and  the 
nights  spent  out-of-doors  in  the  frost  gave  him  acute  pain 
in  his  old  wound,  but  weary  as  he  was  he  determined  that 
Wednesday  evening  to  write  to  Clemency  directly  he  was  re- 
leased from  attendance  on  Sir  William.  He  was  quartered 
with  some  of  the  officers  in  the  Crown  Inn,  and  on  enter- 
ing the  parlor  found  his  companions  making  a  frugal  supper 
of  bread  and  cheese. 

"  Meat  is  not  to  be  had  for  love  or  money,"  said  Colonel 
Wems,  a  kindly -looking  Scotchman,  making  room  for  the 
new-comer  beside  him  ;  "  and  it  is  weel  you  have  come,  Cap- 
tain Heyworth,  or  we  should  have  cleared  the  decks.  What 
are  these  fresh  troops  just  arrived  ?  Do  they  also  come  from 
his  Excellency  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  "from  Kent,  Colonel  Morley's 
regiment ;  and  there  was  much  ado  to  find  quarters  for  them. 
As  for  food,  there  seems  none  to  be  had  in  the  place.  'Tis 
to  be  hoped  the  country  folk  will  send  some  in  to-morrow 
when  the  market  is  held." 

"And  while  you  stay  talking  Captain  Smith  is  making 
dangerous  inroads  on  the  last  surviving  loaf,"  said  the 


Scotch  colonel.  "  Come,  sir,  spare  a  little  for  a  late-comer, 
who  methinks  stands  in  muckle  mair  need." 

Original,  with  a  very  ill  grace,  pushed  the  trencher 
towards  Joscelyn,  and,  glancing  across  the  table  at  him,  ob- 
served with  keen  satisfaction  his  air  of  exhaustion  and 
suffering.  With  a  scowl  he  listened  to  Colonel  Wems's 
question  as  to  the  precise  region  where  Heyworth  had  been 
piked  through  the  body  on  Lansdown  ;  and  he  enviously 
regarded  the  hot  whiskey-and-water  which  the  Scotchman 
began  to  mix  for  his  rival,  with  the  assurance  that  when 
the  cold  settled  in  an  old  wound  whiskey  was  the  sovereign 
remedy. 

With  a  moody  face  Original  presently  pushed  back  his 
chair,  and  took  his  cloak  and  hat. 

"  Are  you  on  duty  to-night  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"  Nay,"  said  Original ;  "  I  go  to  the  church  on  my  cus- 
tomary errand." 

"  You  will  find  it  full  of  horses,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  There 
was  nowhere  else  to  shelter  the  poor  beasts,  who  were  dead 
beat  with  cold  and  fatigue.  I  was  thankful  enough  to  get 
a  shake-down  there  for  Hotspur,  for  the  frost  is  bitter.  If 
you  see  my  groom  there  will  you  tell  him —  But  no ;  on 
second  thoughts,  I  will  come  in  half  an  hour's  time  my- 
self. I  am  sending  him  off  to  Katterham  with  news  of 
our  success ;  if  you  have  aught  to  send  pray  make  use 
of  him." 

Original  thanked  him  coldly  and  withdrew. 

"  What  does  the  chiel  mean  by  *  his  customary  errand  in 
the  church,'  "  asked  Colonel  Wems.  "  Doth  he  hack  statues, 
or  destroy  idolatrous  windows  ?" 

Joscelyn  laughed.  "  Nay,  sir ;  I  am  told  he  hath  a  par- 
ticular divine  mission  all  to  himself,"  he  remarked,  his  blue 
eyes  lighting  up  with  merriment.  "  He  leaves  image- 
breaking  to  the  rude  and  unlettered  soldiery,  and  himself 


39° 

most  religiously  picks  off  from  the  tombs  all  words  which 
do  seem  to  imply  hope  for  progress  after  death.  If  he  sees 
1  Pray  for  the  soul  of  such  an  one,'  out  comes  his  chisel  and 
hammer,  and  that  pernicious  petition  is  defaced.  'Tis  the 
same  with  the  words,  '  Rest  in  peace,'  and  with  the  oft-used 
inscription,  'Jesu  have  mercy.'  If  Original  Sin  Smith 
comes  in  sight  of  a  tomb  with  such  phrases  inscribed — well, 
it  is  all  over  with  the  pious  wishes  of  the  kinsfolk  who  paid 
for  the  monument.  How  far  he  is  legally  within  his  rights 
I  know  not,  but  no  one  can  say  such  inscriptions  come 
under  the  head  of  idolatrous  statues  or  pictures,  and  the 
Parliament  issued  an  order  by  which  the  monuments  of  the 
dead  were  to  be  duly  reverenced." 

"  The  man's  a  fanatic  fool,"  said  the  shrewd  Scotchman, 
"  and  methinks  he  hath  a  special  spite  against  you.  He  can 
understand  no  one  who  is  not  cut  precisely  after  his  own 
pattern." 

Joscelyn,  having  procured  an  inkhorn,  and  taken  from  his 
wallet  a  letter  already  partly  written  to  his  wife,  filled  up 
the  sheet  with  an  account  of  what  had  passed  since  they  left 
Farnham,  and  then,  gladly  accepting  Colonel  Wems's  pro- 
posal to  accompany  him  to  the  church,  set  out  in  search  of 
his  servant.  In  the  clear  frosty  night  the  stars  were  spark- 
ling gloriously,  and  the  long  outline  of  the  church  with  its 
low  tower,  upon  which  two  sacres  had  just  been  planted 
ready  for  bombarding  the  castle  the  next  morning,  was 
clearly  defined.  Lamps  and  torches  were  to  be  seen  also 
shining  through  the  windows,  and  when  they  entered  a 
strange  and  busy  scene  presented  itself.  The  weary  horses 
were  being  groomed,  and  Hotspur,  fastened  up  to  a  pillar, 
was  munching  a  well-earned  supper  of  oats,  while  close  by 
Morrison  was  vigorously  polishing  up  his  bit,  and  whistling 
a  psalm  tune. 

"  Yonder  I  see  Captain  Smith  and  his  pick,"  said  Colonel 


Wems,  and  Joscelyn,  glancing  up  the  aisle,  saw  the  dark- 
looking  fanatic  vigorously  chipping  away  at  the  obnoxious 
words,  "  Orate  pro  anima"  Chancing  to  catch  sight  of  the 
new-comers,  however,  Original  hastily  beat  a  retreat,  and 
when  Colonel  Wems  and  his  companion  left  the  church 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  him. 

"  You  are  happy  to  be  able  to  send  your  servant  with 
letters,"  said  the  Scotchman.  "  Glad  would  I  be  were  my 
wife  and  bairns  in  Surrey  instead  of  in  bonnie  Scotland. 
Great  Heaven  !  who  fired  that  ?" 

A  bullet  had  whistled  past  between  them  as  he  spoke,  and 
eager  to  find  out  what  villain  was  skulking  among  the  ever- 
greens they  turned  hastily  back,  but  could  find  no  one.  At 
length  a  sudden  gleam  from  a  lantern  drew  them  towards 
the  west  end  of  the  church,  and  here  they  stumbled  upon 
no  less  a  person  than  Original  Sin  himself,  kneeling  on  the 
ground  before  a  large  tombstone,  and  carefully  defacing  the 
words  "  Have  mercy." 

"  Have  you  seen  any  malignants  skulking  about  the 
graveyard  ?"  asked  Colonel  Wems. 

"  Nay,"  said  Original,  calmly ;  "  I  heard  a  musket  fired, 
but  no  malignant  hath  passed  this  way." 

Joscelyn  said  not  a  word,  but  eyed  Original  so  keenly  that 
the  man  grew  restless  under  his  scrutiny,  and,  shifting  his 
lantern,  began  vigorously  to  hack  the  name  of  Christ  from 
the  tomb.  There  seemed  something  ominous  in  the  grating 
sound  of  the  chisel,  and  in  the  sighing  of  the  winter  wind 
as  it  swayed  the  ivy  which  hung  in  heavy  masses  about  the 
old  walls  of  the  church.  Joscelyn  shivered  a  little  as  he 
stood  there,  and  instinctively  the  words  of  the  old  prayer, 
"  Lighten  our  darkness,"  rose  to  his  mind.  It  was  with  the 
thought  of  Clemency  before  him  that,  as  they  walked  back 
to  the  inn,  he  told  Colonel  Wems,  under  seal  of  secrecy, 
what  had  passed  in  Alton  Church,  and  how  in  the  pnst 


392 

Original  had  deserted  him  and  had  tried  to  ruin  his  reputa- 
tion with  Sir  William  Waller. 

"  'Tis  plain  as  a  pikestaff,  my  lad,  that  the  man  is  your 
sworn  enemy,"  said  the  Scotchman;  "yet,  as  you  say,  you 
can  as  yet  prove  nothing  against  him,  and  must  e'en  haud 
your  tongue.  But  be  wary,  be  wary !  These  fanatic  fools 
are  kittle  folk  to  deal  with." 

The  siege  continued  without  any  very  noteworthy  inci- 
dent for  more  than  a  fortnight.  Joscelyn's  chief  excitement 
consisted  in  watching  for  the  return  of  his  messenger  from 
Katterham ;  in  trying  to  learn  the  probable  movements  of 
Lord  Hopton,  who  was  skirmishing  in  the  neighborhood  ;  in 
hoping  for  a  chance  meeting  with  Dick,  which  never  took 
place ;  and  in  speculating  what  Original  Sin's  next  piece  of 
malice  would  be. 

At  last,  on  the  5th  of  January,  it  seemed  probable  that 
Arundel  Castle  would  yield,  and  Colonel  Wems,  Major 
Anderson,  and  a  Kentish  captain  were  sent  in  to  treat, 
while  Sir  William  courteously  entertained  not  only  the  three 
officers  whom  the  Royalists  sent  from  the  castle  to  discuss 
terms,  but  also  the  wife  and  daughters  of  Sir  Edward  Bishop, 
who  were  pleased  enough  to  be  feasted  and  entertained  by 
him  after  a  doeful  Christmas-tide  within  the  castle,  where 
provisions  and  water  had  run  terribly  short.  Young  Mistress 
Goring  was  giving  Joscelyn  an  account  of  what  had  passed 
within  the  walls,  discoursing  of  her  husband  and  of  her 
father,  and  telling  of  their  anxiety  about  Dr.  Chillingworth, 
who  lay  there  seriously  ill,  when  she  saw  his  face  suddenly 
brighten  as  a  servant  approached  them  bearing  a  sealed 
packet. 

"  Permit  me,  madam,"  he  said,  turning  towards  her  with 
a  bow,  "  the  messenger  bears  news  of  my  wife,  from  whom 
I  have  not  heard  for  many  weeks." 

The  young  matron  watched  with  a  kindly  smile  the  deep- 


393 

ening  glow  of  color  which  overspread  his  face,  and  the 
eager  boyish  fashion  in  which  he  broke  the  seal  and  hungri- 
ly read  the  letter,  and  presently  she  learned  from  him  much 
of  his  story,  listening  with  special  interest  to  the  account  of 
their  marriage  just  before  the  siege  of  Gloucester,  and  of 
Clemency's  narrow  escape  from  the  granado. 

"  I  must  speak  of  it  to  Dr.  Chillingworth,  who  was  one  of 
your  besiegers  then,"  she  said ;  "  and  if,  as  seems  likely, 
the  castle  is  ceded  to  Sir  William,  I  pray  you  to  do  what 
you  can  for  our  sick  friend,  who  will,  I  suppose,  be  your 
prisoner." 

Her  words  were  fulfilled  the  next  day,  and  Joscelyn  was 
able  to  be  no  small  comfort  to  the  dying  divine,  who,  with 
Waller's  permission,  was  removed  as  a  prisoner  to  Chi- 
chester  to  spare  him  the  journey  to  London,  and  was  there 
remorselessly  worried  by  the  kind,  well-meaning,  but  argu- 
mentative Dr.  Cheynell.  Whichcote's  pupil  had  naturally 
far  more  sympathy  with  the  wide-minded  Chillingworth 
than  with  the  Calvinistic  divine  in  religious  matters,  but 
when  they  fell  to  arguing  on  the  question  of  the  war,  and 
Chillingworth  would  quote  passages  against  the  sinfulness 
of  rebellion,  worthy  Dr.  CheyneH's  simple  question,  "  Do 
you  believe  that  tyranny  is  God's  ordinance  ?"  seemed  to 
him  more  suggestive  and  practical  than  anything  which  the 
sick  man  could  bring  forward. 

It  had  been  decided  that  the  divine  should  be  buried 
in  the  cloisters  at  Chichester,  and  Joscelyn,  mindful  of  cer- 
tain kind  words  that  he  had  received  from  Chillingworth  at 
Arundel,  obtained  leave  to  be  present  at  the  funeral,  and 
was  thus  a  spectator  of  the  extraordinary  scene  which  took 
place,  when  Dr.  Cheynell,  who  had  attended  the  dying  man 
with  the  greatest  kindness,  appeared  beside  the  open  grave 
with  a  copy  of  Chillingworth's  book,  The  Religion  of  Protes- 
tants. That  it  was  a  powerful  attack  on  the  errors  of  Rome 


394 

he  could  hardly  have  denied,  but  he  thought  ifc  contained 
yet  more  dangerous  errors,  and  a  shudder  ran  through  the 
crowd  of  spectators  as  with  the  most  bitter  denunciation  he 
flung  the  volume  down  upon  the  coffin,  crying  out :  "  Get 
thee  gone,  thou  cursed  book — thou  corrupt,  rotten  book. 
Get  thee  gone  into  the  place  of  rottenness,  that  thou  mayst 
rot  with  the  author  and  see  corruption." 

"  But  the  author  is  not  down  there,"  observed  Joscelyn, 
in  a  low  tone  to  Arthur  Denham,  who  stood  beside  him. 
And  no  sooner  had  Dr.  Cheynell  gone  off  to  preach  in  the 
cathedral  than  the  young  Puritan  officer,  stooping  into  the 
grave,  managed  with  some  difficulty  to  pick  up  the  volume 
on  the  point  of  his  sword. 

"  Had  he  wished  to  make  us  all  eager  to  read  the  book  he 
could  hardly  have  gone  about  it  better,"  said  Joscelyn,  walk- 
ing away  through  the  cloisters  beside  his  friendly  foe,  and 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  volume  that  had  been  so  vio- 
lently cursed.  "  'Tis  dry  as  dust  to  all  appearances,  yet 
will  I  keep  it  out  of  respect  to  the  memory  of  Dr.  Chilling- 
worth,  who,  whatever  his  views  may  have  been,  was,  I  verily 
believe,  one  of  the  best  of  men." 

"  Good  heavens  !"  cried  Arthur  Denham.  "  Who  was  that 
spiteful-faced  fellow  that  passed  us  as  you  spoke  ?  I  have 
surely  seen  him  before." 

"  From  your  description  I  should  hazard  the  guess  that 
it  was  none  other  than  Original  Sin  himself,"  said  Joscelyn. 
And  glancing  over  his  shoulder  he  perceived  the  familiar 
figure  of  the  Roundhead  walking  slowly  in  the  opposite 
direction.  "Aye,  aye,"  he  said,  "  I  was  quite  right.  'Tis  a 
fanatic  that  is  trying  hard  to  trap  me,  and  would  fain  de- 
nounce me  as  Dr.  Cheynell  denounced  this  book  I  have 
rescued.  I  believe  the  fellow  is,  for  all  his  sourness,  a 
religious  man.  That  is  the  strange  part  of  it.  But  his 
belief  seems  to  be  in  a  God  who  takes  a  distant  bird's- 


395 

eye  view  of  the  earth  rather  than  as  one  who  dwells 
within  us." 

"  The  man's  look  haunts  me,"  said  Denham,  uneasily. 
"  I  hope  you  will  have  a  care  of  yourself." 

"Aye,"  said  Joscelyn,  with  a  laugh.  "Trust  me  to  give 
him  a  wide  berth.  Do  you  remember  at  Farnham  how  you 
cleared  me  long  ago  from  his  aspersions  ?" 

And  with  that  they  fell  to  talking  of  the  first  days  of  their 
acquaintance. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

The  government  of  our  spirits  is  the  greatest  freedom. 

— BENJAMIN  WHICHCOTE. 

WHILE  the  Fairfaxes  were  triumphing  in  Yorkshire  and 
the  Scots  had  crossed  the  border,  while  Charles  had  sum- 
moned his  "  Oxford  Parliament,"  and  while  the  Parliament 
at  Westminster  was  discovering  incessant  plots  and  intrigues 
and  compromising  letters  which  showed  the  King  to  be 
wholly  untrustworthy,  a  somewhat  weary  and  uneventful 
winter  was  being  spent  by  Joscelyn  and  Clemency.  To  be 
separated  from  each  other  by  any  very  active  work  might 
have  been  endurable,  but  the  great  severity  of  the  weather 
made  it  impossible  as  yet  to  carry  out  the  scheme  of  a  fresh 
campaign  in  the  west,  which,  in  the  spring,  Waller  hoped  to 
undertake.  The  only  one  who  rejoiced  greatly  at  the  tem- 
porary lull  was  little  Rosamond  Heyworth,  who,  with  Jos- 
celyn quartered  at  Farnham,  with  her  father  and  Dick 
constantly  with  Lord  Hopton's  army  in  Sussex  or  Hamp- 
shire, and  with  Temperance  Turner  to  fetch  and  carry 
letters,  was  more  at  ease  than  she  had  been  for  a  long  time. 
Once  she  had  contrived  to  meet  her  favorite  brother  in  Bar- 
naby's  cottage,  and  on  a  bleak  March  day,  when,  accom- 
panied by  a  good-natured  French  waiting-maid,  she  had 
driven  in  a  coach  to  Alton,  she  was  so  fortunate  as  to  catch 
sight  of  Joscelyn  just  outside  the  town.  He  had  ridden 
over  with  Sir  William  Waller,  and  the  two  were  speaking 
gravely  enough  of  the  recent  desertion  of  Sir  Richard  Gran- 
ville,  the  lieutenant-general  of  Waller's  Horse,  who,  on  the 


397 

3d  of  March,  had  fled  to  the  King  at  Oxford,  bearing  him 
news  of  the  proposed  surrender  of  Basing  House  on  the 
part  of  the  governor,  Lord  Charles  Paulet.  Personally 
Joscelyn  was  thankful  to  be  freed  from  the  companionship 
of  a  man  whose  vicious  life  and  selfish  nature  made  him 
almost  more  ill  to  live  with  than  Original  Sin  himself,  and 
as  he  rode  beside  Waller  he  was  contrasting  him  with  his 
elder  brother,  the  gallant  Sir  Bevil  Granville,  Dick's  icjol, 
who  had  fallen  at  the  battle  of  Lansdown.  Suddenly  he 
broke  off  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  for  Cymro 
bounded  forward  to  greet  him,  and  at  a  little  distance  he 
saw  the  well-known  family  coach  lumbering  slowly  along. 

"  Why,  'tis  your  dog  that  we  mistook  last  year  for  a  ban- 
shee," said  Sir  William,  "and  here  comes  the  sweetest  little 
maid  that  ever  tripped  along  so  rough  a  road." 

With  kindly  eyes  he  watched  the  eager  greeting  between 
the  brother  and  sister,  and,  dismounting  himself,  begged  to 
be  presented  to  Rosamond,  whose  wistful  yet  childlike  face 
lighted  up  into  glowing  beauty  when  he  spoke  warmly  of 
Joscelyn's  services. 

"  So  you  wilt  no  longer  grudge  him  to  me  ?"  he  said, 
smiling,  as,  after  a  few  minutes'  talk,  he  bade  her  farewell. 
"  You  will  remember  that  he  is  my  right  hand,  and  hath 
more  influence  with  the  men  than  many  who  rank  as  his 
seniors.  I  am  sure  you,  who  greatly  resemble  him,  are 
equally  true  to  the  good  cause." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Rosamond,  shyly,  "  I  am  neither  for  the 
King  nor  for  the  Parliament,  but  for  peace  at  any  price." 

This  frank  confession  made  them  all  laugh,  and  having 
comforted  the  child  with  hopes  of  a  speedy  end  to  the  war, 
they  put  her  safely  back  into  the  coach,  and  returned  to 
Farnham,  talking  of  the  store  of  arms  which  it  was  rumored 
that  the  King  had  just  received  from  France,  and  of  the 
probable  opening  of  the  spring  campaign.  It  was  quite 


398 

dusk  when  they  reached  Farnham  Castle  and  dismounted 
at  the  doorway.  Standing  there,  in  the  shelter  of  the  porch, 
Joscelyn  could  just  discern  Original  Smith. 

"  Hath  Morrison  returned  yet  from  Katterham  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Nay/'  said  the  Roundhead,  coldly,  "he  hath  not  yet 
returned." 

The  servant  had  been  away  for  the  last  week,  and  during 
his  absence  Joscelyn  had  always  groomed  his  own  horse,  be- 
ing too  fond  of  Hotspur  to  trust  him  to  strangers.  He  was 
disappointed  that  no  tidings  had  arrived,  as  he  expected, 
from  his  wife,  and  went  round  to  the  stables  in  one  of  those 
fits  of  depression  to  which  he  was  at  times  liable.  Sir  Will- 
iam Waller,  with  a  word  or  two  to  one  of  his  officers, 
mounted  the  steps  leading  into  the  castle,  and  Original 
Smith,  wrapping  his  cloak  about  him,  glided  noiselessly  out 
into  the  twilight,  following  Joscelyn  at  some  little  distance. 
Below  one  of  the  stable  windows  he  paused  for  a  minute, 
and  in  the  light  which  streamed  forth  from  the  lanterns 
within  cautiously  drew  out  and  examined  a  dagger  which  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  carrying.  Then  moving  quietly  across 
the  space  which  intervened  between  the  stable  and  the  main 
building,  he  entered  a  doorway  which  led  into  a  long,  wind- 
ing passage  up  which  Joscelyn  had  for  the  last  week  inva- 
riably passed  when  coming  from  the  stable  to  his  room  in 
the  castle.  The  passage  was  little  frequented  at  that  time 
of  day ;  it  was  quite  in  the  back  premises,  and  as  conven- 
ient a  place  as  could  have  been  found  for  an  assassin  to 
lurk  in.  Original  drew  back  into  the  darkness  of  an  open 
cellar  door  and  awaited  his  prey.  No  thought  of  pity,  no 
gleam  of  genuine  love  for  Clemency  shone  now  within  him. 
He  was  possessed  solely  by  one  idea,  hatred  towards  the 
man  who  had  thwarted  his  hopes,  and  fiendish  desire  to 
inflict  on  him  the  worst  possible  suffering.  It  was  in  no 


399 

sudden  fit  of  blind  wrath  that  he  was  about  to  attempt  a 
murder,  but  in  the  most  calm,  cold-blooded,  deliberate  man- 
ner possible.  His  plans  at  last  seemed  moving  smoothly 
forward.  When  he  had  disposed  of  his  victim,  silently  and 
stealthily,  he  should  be  able  to  ride  off  quietly  enough ;  al- 
ready his  horse,  saddled  and  bridled,  waited  for  him  in  an 
easily  accessible  place,  and  to  disappear  and  take  service 
after  a  time  under  another  name  would  be  a  matter  very 
easily  accomplished  in  the  present  state  of  the  country. 

In  the  meantime  Joscelyn  was  working  off  his  fit  of  de- 
pression as  best  he  could  by  vigorous  attendance  on  his 
favorite.  The  horse  was  just  eating  a  last  mouthful  of  oats 
from  his  hand,  when,  hearing  a  step  behind  him,  he  glanced 
round,  and  was  surprised  to  see  Waller  standing  close  by. 

"  Can  I  do  aught  for  you,  sir  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Nay,"  said  Waller,  a  smile  flickering  about  his  lips  ;  "  I 
did  but  come  out  to  escape  from  the  convention  that  I 
found  taking  place  in  the  banqueting-hall.  A  long-winded 
saint  is  addressing  the  soldiers,  and  as  the  governor  is 
present  to  do  the  honors  of  the  place,  there  is  no  call  for 
me  to  endure  the  sermon.  Truth  to  tell,  soldiering  is  more 
to  my  taste  than  theology." 

With  a  farewell  caress  to  Hotspur,  Joscelyn  followed  his 
general  into  the  open  air. 

"  You  lead  the  way,"  said  Waller,  "  for  you  know  these 
regions  better  than  I  do,  and  it  is  well-nigh  dark;  why,  man, 
'twill  be  as  black  as  pitch  in  the  passage — the  very  one,  un- 
less my  memory  mistakes,  where  I  well-nigh  lost  my  life  when 
we  took  the  castle ;  had  you  not  better  go  back  for  one  of 
the  stable  lanterns  ?" 

"  I  know  every  step  of  the  way,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  open- 
ing the  outer  door,  and  preparing  to  act  as  guide  to  his  gen- 
eral. The  blustering  March  wind  entered  with  them  and 
blew  drearily  up  the  stone  entry,  whistling  in  ghostly  fash- 


ion  among  the  rafters.  Scarcely  had  the  door  closed  noisily 
behind  them  when  Joscelyn's  quick  advance  was  suddenly 
checked,  an  iron  hand  griped  his  throat,  making  it  impos- 
sible for  him  to  utter  a  sound,  and  in  an  instant  he  was 
struggling  wildly  with  an  unseen  foe.  Original  Sin  fought 
like  a  demon,  silently  and  in  darkness,  never  once  re- 
linquishing his  grip  on  his  enemy's  throat  till  Joscelyn, 
choked  and  stunned,  had  been  forced  to  the  ground.  Then, 
when  the  traitor  was  preparing  to  give  the  coup  de  grace  to 
his  victim,  he  suddenly  realized  that  he  had  a  second  man 
to  fight,  and  it  was  only  thanks  to  Waller's  utter  surprise 
and  to  Original's  better  acquaintance  with  the  passage  that, 
after  a  fierce  struggle,  he  managed  to  effect  his  escape,  never 
once  pausing  till  he  had  reached  the  park,  unfastened  his 
horse  from  the  tree  to  which  he  had  attached  him,  and  rid- 
den away  into  a  desolate  region  where  pursuit  would  have 
been  impossible. 

Waller,  in  great  wrath  at  what  he  naturally  supposed  to 
be  an  attempt  to  assassinate  him,  hurriedly  groped  his  way 
into  the  castle,  bringing  back  with  him  four  or  five  men-at- 
arms  with  torches,  and  Sir  Arthur  Hazlerigg,  gaining  news 
of  some  disturbance,  came  hurrying  from  the  hall  to  inquire 
after  his  friend. 

"  There  is  naught  amiss  with  me,"  said  Sir  William  ;  "  'tis 
for  Captain  Heyworth  that  I  fear.  Bring  lights  quickly. 
Aye,  there  he  lies,  poor  lad ;  he  was  walking  first,  and  the 
villain  doubtless  mistook  him  for  me." 

"  There  is  life  in  him  yet,"  said  Hazlerigg,  bending  low 
down  over  the  young  officer.  "  Let  the  surgeons  wait  upon 
him  at  once,  and  let  us  have  an  end  of  this  preaching  in 
the  hall  that  the  men  may  search  for  the  villain  who  at- 
tempted your  life." 

But  no  one  knew  who  to  search  for,  and  though  the  gov- 
ernor ordered  the  whole  castle  to  be  ransacked,  no  lurking 


401 

traitor  was  discovered  within  the  gates,  nor  had  any  of  the 
warders  seen  the  least  trace  of  a  fugitive. 

Three  hours  had  elapsed  before  the  surgeons  could  restore 
the  patient  to  consciousness,  for  the  assassin,  though  unable 
to  use  his  dagger,  owing  to  the  victim's  vigorous  resistance 
and  to  Waller's  interference,  had  yet  very  nearly  accom- 
plished his  end  by  strangulation.  For  days  Joscelyn's  throat 
did  not  recover  from  the  effects  of  that  iron  grip,  but  he 
was  able  late  that  night  to  answer  the  eager  questions  put 
to  him  with  regard  to  the  assault. 

"  Have  you  any  notion  whether  it  was  one  of  our  own 
men  ?"  asked  Sir  William,  breathing  more  freely  now  that 
Joscelyn  was  pronounced  by  the  surgeons  to  be  out  of 
danger. 

"  An  I  mistake  not,  sir,  'twas  Original  Sin  Smith,"  he  re- 
plied in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

And  when  the  roll  was  called  Original  was  found  to  be 
absent.  He  was,  in  fact,  on  the  farther  side  of  Guildford, 
and  had  just  put  up  his  weary  horse  at  a  way-side  inn  on  the 
Dorking  Road.  By  this  time  he  was  in  extremely  low 
spirits.  A  sense  of  failure  had  begun  to  creep  over  him  ;  he 
reflected  that  he  had  not  given  Joscelyn  the  coup  de  grace, 
and  in  all  probability  had  but  left  him  stunned  and  choked, 
thanks  to  the  interference  of  his  unexpected  companion. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  howling  wind  he  must  surely  have 
noticed  the  entrance  of  two  people  into  the  passage,  and  he 
cursed  his  ill-luck  in  having  for  the  third  time  failed  to  exe- 
cute judgment  on  his  foe.  Anxious  to  see  that  his  horse 
was  properly  attended  to,  he  crossed  the  stable-yard  of  the 
inn  in  company  with  the  landlord. 

"  Have  you  many  guests  ?"  he  asked,  cautiously. 

"  Nay,  sir ;  my  house  is  empty  save  for  one  gentleman's 
servant  who  lies  here  to-night.  He  had  hoped  to  get  on  far- 
ther, being  in  haste,  but  the  horse,  having  come  from  Kat- 
26 


402 

terham,  a  village  some  eight  miles  from  Reigate,  was  sore 
spent." 

Original  made  no  comment,  but  he  looked  at  the  tired 
steed  in  the  stable,  and  knew  at  once  that  the  servant  was 
none  other  than  Jack  Morrison.  To  avoid  an  encounter 
with  the  fellow  he  promptly  retired  to  bed,  and  in  the  dark- 
ness lay  revolving  fresh  schemes  of  vengeance,  since  with 
each  attempt  and  failure  his  thirst  for  revenge  grew  more 
overmastering. 

Avoiding  the  neighborhood  of  Willey  Farm,  he  lay  the 
next  night  at  Godstone,  and  early  in  the  morning  presented 
himself  at  Katterham,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  at  the  Court- 
house. 

Clemency  turned  deadly  pale  when  he  was  ushered  into 
the  study,  where  she  sat  reading  to  her  grandfather,  while* 
at  the  other  side  of  the  hearth  Faith  and  Hester  were  wind- 
ing wool  for  the  next  winter's  stockings. 

"  You  bring  us  ill  news,"  she  cried,  breathlessly ;  "  I  can 
read  it  in  your  face  !" 

"  I  am  indeed  a  messenger  of  woe,"  said  Original,  greeting 
her  precisely  in  his  usual  manner.  "  Yet  do  not  wholly  lose 
heart.  Your  husband  has  been  sorely  wounded  ;  he  lies  at 
death's  door,  and  by  his  desire  I  have  come  to  take  you  to 
him.  Say,  can  you  start  at  once  ?  Time  is  precious." 

For  all  answer  Clemency  rushed  from  the  room  in  search 
of  Charlotte. 

"  Charlotte,"  she  cried,  "  I  want  you  to  make  another 
journey  with  me ;  we  must  start  at  once  for  Farnham  ,•  my 
husband  is  wounded — dying,  maybe — "  She  broke  off  in  an 
agony  of  distress,  and  began  in  frantic  haste  to  put  together 
such  things  as  she  deemed  most  needful  for  the  journey, 
with  the  restless  energy  of  one  who  struggles  against  a  heart- 
breaking grief. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  said  Charlotte,  "  you  are  unfit  for 


403 

such  a  journey.  Yet,  if  indeed  it  must  be,  you  must  go  in 
the  coach,  and  I  must  come  with  you,  and  maybe  one  of 
your  sisters  had  best  come  too." 

"Not  Faith,"  said  Clemency.  "She  hath  suffered  too 
much  already,  and  she  can  better  be  left  in  charge  of  the 
household.  Oh  !  if  only  the  ladies  at  the  dower-house  had 
not  gone  to  London,  Mrs.  Ursula  would  have  come  at  once." 

In  the  end  it  was  arranged  that  Hester  should  be  the  third 
occupant  of  the  coach.  Though  a  girl  of  barely  eighteen, 
she  was  in  some  ways  a  better  companion  than  Faith — less 
easily  upset,  and  of  a  calmer  temperament,  having  about  her, 
moreover,  the  same  strength  and  courage  which  character- 
ized Clemency. 

Endless  seemed  the  journey  over  those  rough  roads  among 
the  Surrey  hills,  and  when  night  fell  they  were  still  far  from 
Joscelyn.  Starting  on  again  very  early  the  next  morning, 
they  reached  the  way-side  inn  not  far  from  Guildford  just 
about  the  time  Original  had  calculated.  The  sun  was  almost 
setting,  and  the  coachman  readily  agreed  that  it  would  be 
better  for  the  horses  to  rest  rather  than  to  attempt  to  push 
on  to  Guildford,  especially  when  he  learned  that  good  accom- 
modation for  them  was  to  be  had.  It  was  arranged,  how- 
ever, that  he  should  ride  on  to  Guildford  on  a  hired  horse, 
and  inquire  whether  any  messenger  had  arrived  there  to  re- 
port of  Captain  Heyworth's  condition. 

Having  despatched  the  coachman  on  this  fruitless  errand, 
Original  had  some  difficulty  in  disposing  of  Charlotte;  but 
he  knew  well  how  to  enlist  her  sympathies,  and  by  a  well- 
fabricated  tale  of  a  forlorn-looking  crippled  child  that  he 
had  noticed  as  they  passed  a  cottage  half  a  mile  back,  he 
wrought  upon  the  good  woman's  compassion,  and  bestow- 
ing a  crown  on  her  for  the  relief  of  the  imaginary  sufferer, 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  briskly  walking  back  on 
the  Dorking  Road. 


404 

"  Charlotte  Wells  was  ever  a  swift  walker,"  he  remarked 
to  himself  with  a  grim  smile ;  "  I  must  lose  no  time." 

Entering  the  room  where  they  had  supped,  he  found 
Clemency  leaning  back  wearily  in  the  inglenook,  while 
Hester,  her  reddish  auburn  coloring  exquisitely  softened 
in  the  dim  light,  was  kneeling  beside  her  and  chafing  her 
cold  hands. 

"As  for  me,"  she  was  saying,  "I  have  a  great  feeling 
that  we  shall  find  him  better.  Think  how  strong  he  is, 
and  how  well  he  recovered  after  the  battle  of  Lansdown." 

"  Mistress  Hester,"  said  Original,  quietly,  "  by  your  leave 
I  will  ask  for  a  few  words  alone  with  your  sister.  I  have 
not  yet  had  an  opportunity  of  telling  her  something  which 
it  is  fitting  she  should  know." 

Hester,  a  little  awed  by  the  ex-tutor's  gravity,  rose  to 
leave  the  room,  Original  ceremoniously  opening  the  door 
for  her,  and  softly  drawing  the  bolt  as  he  closed  it.  Clem- 
ency never  noticed  his  movements ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  glowing  embers. 

"  Is  it  of  my  husband  that  you  would  speak  to  me  ?"  she 
asked,  wistfully.  "  You  have  told  me  few  details  of  his 
wound ;  tell  me  all — all  that  you  know." 

Original  confronted  her,  his  whole  manner  changed. 

"  Aye,"  he  said,  "  I  will  tell  you  all.  As  for  your  hus- 
band, madam,  I  know  not  for  certain  whether  he  be  alive 
or  dead ;  but  I  have  a  strong  conviction  that  he  has  once 
more  escaped  my  just  vengeance.  I  am  now  going  to  work 
in  another  fashion." 

Clemency  started  to  her  feet  in  great  terror. 

"  What  hath  so  changed  you  ?"  she  cried.  "  Are*  you 
mad  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  What  strange  words  are  these  that 
you  use  ?" 

"I  am  neither  ill  nor  mad,"  said  Original,  "but  I  am 
appointed  to  punish  the  treacherous  villain  who,  under  the 


405 

name  of  patriotism,  crept  into  your  home  and  won  you,  but 
for  all  that  shall  not  have  you." 

By  a  quick  movement  she  eluded  his  grasp,  and  with  an 
agonized  cry  for  help  rushed  to  the  door.  In  the  porch 
stood  Hester,  listening  to  the  approaching  tramp  of  horses' 
feet  on  the  road,  and  wondering  whether  the  travellers 
would,  perchance,  stop  at  the  inn.  Hearing  her  sister's 
cry  of  terror,  she  flew  to  the  door  of  the  parlor  only  to  find 
it  bolted  against  her ;  as  for  the  house,  it  seemed  deserted 
— the  landlord  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  Hester,  wild 
with  fright,  ran  out  into  the  road  calling  vehemently  for  help, 
and  all  the  more  distracted  because  she  was  unable  to  form 
the  least  guess  as  to  Clemency's  peril.  The  party  of  horse- 
men approaching  the  inn  were  the  first  human  beings  she 
encountered,  and,  regardless  of  the  red  ribbons  and  feath- 
ers which  they  wore — though  at  any  other  time  such  a  badge 
would  have  filled  her  with  panic — she  threw  herself  on  their 
compassion. 

"  Sir,  sir,"  she  cried,  snatching  at  the  bridle  of  the 
nearest  rider,  "help  my  sister!  Save  her!  Oh,  haste- 
haste  !" 

The  young  Cavalier  to  whom  she  had  appealed  leaped 
from  his  horse  instantly,  and,  followed  by  one  or  two  of  his 
companions,  hurried  in  the  direction  which  she  pointed  out 
to  them. 

By  the  time  Hester  had  overtaken  them  they  had  suc- 
ceeded, with  the  aid  of  the  landlord,  in  forcing  the  door, 
and  the  girl  was  spared  the  sight  of  Original  Smith  in  the 
hands  of  his  captors,  for  the  officer  to  whom  she  had  spoken 
came  hurriedly  forth  into  the  porch  and  gently  laid  Clem- 
ency's unconscious  form  on  the  ground,  giving  swift,  busi- 
ness-like directions  to  Hester  in  a  way  which  reminded  her 
of  her  brother-in-law. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  he  said,  kindly.    "  There  !  take  her  head 


406 

on  your  lap,  and  I  will  fetch  water.  The  villain  had  not 
harmed  her,  I  think  ;  she  hath  swooned  from  terror." 

The  evening  air  blew  coldly  into  the  porch  ;  Hester  shiv- 
ered as  she  crouched  there  on  the  flag-stones,  but  it  was 
more  from  the  intensity  of  her  anxiety  about  Clemency,  and 
from  the  terror  of  her  strange  loneliness  in  the  midst  of  this 
horrible  adventure,  than  from  cold.  It  was  with  unspeaka- 
ble relief  that  she  saw  her  kindly  helper  return. 

"  Oh  !"  she  cried,  "  do  not  leave  me  again.  Such  dread- 
ful sounds  come  from  the  parlor,  and  Clemency  never  stirs. 
I  begin  to  fear  that — that — "  She  broke  off,  unable  to  re- 
strain her  tears. 

The  young  Cavalier,  who  had  been  fascinated  from  the 
first  by  the  girl  who  had  flung  herself  on  his  chivalrous  pro- 
tection, now  glanced  from  her  to  the  death-like  face  on 
her  knee,  striving  in  the  dim  light  to  study  the  beautiful 
features. 

"  The  name  you  spoke  is  familiar  to  me,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  Richard  Heyworth,  of  Shortell ;  did  you  ever  by  chance 
hear  that  name  before  ?" 

Hester's  face  lighted  up  with  such  rapturous  relief  that 
honest  Dick  felt  every  pulse  within  him  beat  at  double  time. 

"  Oh !"  she  cried,  "  now  all  will  be  well,  for  you  must  be 
Joscelyn's  brother.  We  were  on  our  way  to  him  because 
Captain  Smith,  that  was  once  our  tutor,  had  brought  word 
that  he  was  wounded,  and  had  sent  for  my  sister." 

"There  has  been  foul  play  somewhere,"  said  Dick,  his 
brow  darkening.  "  But,  see,  your  sister  has  stirred  ;  she  is 
reviving.  'Twere  best  that  you  spoke  to  her,  and  told  her 
that  all  is  well !"  He  drew  back  a  little  into  the  shadow, 
intently  watching  Hester's  girlish  figure  as  she  bent  over 
her  sister. 

"Clemency,"  he  heard  her  say  softly,  "all  is  well,  dear; 
all  is  well.  Joscelyn's  brother  hath  saved  you.  Do  you 


ORIGINAL    SMITH    AIMED    DELIBERATELY    AT    HIM." 


[Page 


407 

hear,   Clemency  ?     There   is   naught   to   fear  •   Joscelyn's 
brother  is  taking  care  of  us." 

"  Is  it  Dick  ?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"Aye,". he  said,  coming  forward  so  that  she  could  see 
him.  "  We  last  met  at  Gloucester,  did  we  not  ?  I  did  not 
at  once  recognize  you."  Indeed,  the  contrast  between  the 
lovely,  happy-looking  bride  who  had  talked  to  him  in  the 
gabled  house^  and  this  wan,  agonized  woman  whom  he  had 
just  rescued  was  so  great  that  even  in  the  clear  light  of  day 
he  would  scarcely  have  known  her.  He  raised  her  hand  to 
his  lips  reverently,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  not  let  him 
help  her  back  into  the  house.  But  at  the  suggestion  all  her 
memories  of  the  awful  scene  through  which  she  had  passed 
returned. 

"  Not  in  there,"  she  pleaded.     "  I  cannot,  I  cannot !" 

"  Our  coach  stands  in  the  yard,"  said  Hester.  "  Would 
it  not  be  better  if  you  rested  there  ?" 

And  Clemency  hailed  the  idea  with  such  relief  that  Dick 
promptly  carried  her  from  the  porch  and  laid  her  gently 
down  on  the  cushions  of  the  capacious  travelling-carriage. 
Just  then  Charlotte  hurried  back  breathlessly  from  her  fruit- 
less errand,  and,  leaving  her  in  attendance  on  her  mistress, 
Dick  returned  to  the  inn,  eager  to  know  what  had  happened. 
The  parlor  door  now  stood  open,  his  companion,  Major 
Grey,  was  talking  beside  the  hearth  to  the  landlord,  while 
two  of  the  men  who  had  been  in  attendance  on  them  bent 
over  the  prostrate  figure  of  the  fanatic.  Dick  saw  that  they 
were  straightening  his  limbs  and  closing  his  eyes. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  he  asked,  in  an  awed  voice,  shuddering  a 
little  as  he  remembered  the  look  he  had  last  seen  on  the 
Puritan's  face. 

"  We  offered  him  quarter,"  said  Major  Grey,  "  if  he 
would  yield  quietly  and  be  made  prisoner,  but  he  refused 
and  fought  as  though  he  were  possessed.  His  last  con- 


408 

scious  word  was  an  imprecation  on  you.     How  came  he  to 
know  your  name?" 

"  More  likely  he  cursed  my  brother,"  said  Dick,  telling 
the  major  of  the  strange  chance  by  which  he  had  been  able 
to  save  his  sister-in-law,  and  of  the  anxiety  which  they  were 
still  undergoing  on  Joscelyn's  account. 

"  If  she  be  fit  to  travel  farther  to-night,"  he  added,  "  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  escort  her  as  far  as  Farnham  myself, 
instead  of  journeying  to  Shortell." 

"  You  will  be  running  some  risk  if  you  do,"  said  the  ma- 
jor, "  for  Farnham  is  still  in  Waller's  hands.  However,  you 
Heyworths  do  not  stick  at  a  trifle,  and  with  a  foe  as  honor- 
able as  Waller  you  will  doubtless  be  allowed  to  pass  in 
such  an  emergency.  There  remains  only  the  duty  of  bury- 
ing this  villain  who  hath  gone  to  his  account.  Stay,  there 
is  that  pretty  damsel  at  the  door.  She  had  best  not  see  the 
body." 

Dick  hurried  forward,  but  it  was  too  late.  Hester  stood 
in  the  doorway  gazing  with  dilated  eyes  at  the  corpse  of 
Original  Sin. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  she  faltered.  "  Clemency  sent  me  to  beg 
that  you  would  not  harm  him.  She  thinks  he  was  dis- 
traught." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  major,  "  he  was  in  his  right  senses,  my 
dear ;  but  since  he  refused  quarter,  and  would  not  be  made 
prisoner,  we  were  forced  to  fight  him,  and  he  has  met  his 
end — perchance  an  easier  death  than  he  deserved.  He  suf- 
fered little." 

Hester  had  griped  fast  hold  of  Dick's  hand.  For  some 
moments  she  did  not  stir,  but  presently,  to  their  surprise, 
she  drew  forth  from  her  housewife  a  little  pair  of  scissors, 
and,  crossing  the  room,  bent  over  the  body  of  her  dead  tutor, 
with  some  difficulty  cutting  off  a  piece  of  his  short,  dark 
hair. 


409 

"  His  mother  loves  him  very  dearly,"  she  said,  glancing 
up  at  Dick.  "  I  will  take  this  home  to  her,  and  of  the  rest 
she  need  never  know." 

The  men  glanced  at  each  other,  but  did  not  speak. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Then  come,  my  faithful  consort,  joyne  with  me 
In  this  good  fight,  and  my  true  helper  be. 
Cheer  me  when  sad,  advise  me  when  I  stray  ; 
Let  us  be  each  the  other's  guide  and  stay. 
Be  your  lord's  guardian.     Give  joynt  ayde  and  due  ; 
Help  him  when  falne.     Rise  when  he  helpeth  you. 
That  so  we  may  not  only  one  flesh  bee, 
But  in  one  spirit,  and  one  will  agree. 

— HENRY  VAUGHAN. 

DICK  was  far  too  chivalrous  to  leave  any  women  in  so 
forlorn  a  plight,  even  had  they  had  no  special  claim  upon 
his  care  and  protection.  With  his  aid  they  went  on  as 
quickly  as  might  be  to  Guildford,  rested  a  few  hours  at  one 
of  the  inns,  and  at  sunrise  started  for  Farnham,  since  Char- 
lotte was  persuaded  that  it  would  be  safer  to  humor  Clem- 
ency, whose  sole  idea  was  to  reach  her  husband  with  all 
speed.  Major  Grey  had  rightly  said,  however,  that  there 
might  be  risk  in  actually  entering  Farnham.  No  sooner 
had  they  crossed  the  Hog's  Back,  and  descended  into  the 
valley  where  lay  the  little  town  encircled  by  hop  gardens, 
now  brown  and  bare-looking,  than  the  young  Cavalier  was 
challenged  by  the  Parliamentary  sentinels.  He  had  no 
pass  to  show,  and  it  was  very  clear  to  him  that  the  officer 
to  whom  he  appealed  did  not  believe  a  word  of  his  story. 

"  You  can  do  what  you  please  with  me,"  he  said,  finding 
remonstrance  of  no  avail ;  "  all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  not 
further  alarm  Mistress  Heyworth,  but  permit  her  to  go 
quietly  to  the  Bush  Inn." 

"We  have  no  quarrel  with  ladies,"  said  the  officer,  coldly, 


'"but  I  will  not  permit  a  malignant  to  pass.  You,  sir,  must 
be  taken  to  the  castle." 

Dick  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  As  you  will,"  he  said, 
indifferently;  "so  that  I  get  speech  of  Sir  William  Waller 
I  care  not  what  you  do  with  me.  Permit  me  just  one  word 
with  my  sister."  He  rode  forward  to  the  coach,  and,  dis- 
mounting, spoke  a  few  cheering  words  to  the  travellers. 
"  All  will  be  well,"  he  said ;  "  I  shall  ride  direct  to  the 
castle,  and  send  Joscelyn  to  you  at  the  Bush  with  all  speed  ; 
'tis  one  of  the  best  inns  on  the  road,  and  you  will  find  a 
good-natured  landlady  to  care  for  you." 

Clemency  thanked  him  faintly,  but  seemed  too  much  ex- 
hausted to  realize  things  very  clearly.  It  was  gray-eyed 
Hester  who  turned  to  him  with  troubled  looks  and  anxious 
inquiries. 

"  And  you,  sir  ?"  she  asked.  "  What  said  yonder  officer 
in  so  churlish  a  tone  about  malignants  ?" 

Dick  made  a  warning  gesture,  and  she  dared  ask  no  more 
lest  Clemency  should  take  alarm  ;  but  she  bent  forward  and, 
slipping  her  cold  hand  into  his,  gave  his  fingers  a  little 
grateful  pressure  which  sent  him  off  in  excellent  spirits,  and 
with  an  expression  of  content  which  sat  strangely  on  the 
face  of  a  prisoner. 

Thinking  often  of  the  far  more  wretched  day  when  Josce- 
lyn had  been  the  prisoner  and  he  had  been  an  unwilling 
escort,  he  rode  up  the  castle  hill  and  followed  his  captor 
into  the  presence  of  Waller,  who  received  him  courteously 
and  listened  to  his  story  with  much  interest. 

"  I  had  thought  the  fellow  meant  to  assassinate  me,"  he 
said,  when  Dick  paused,  "  for  as  I  was  coming  through  one 
of  the  passages  three  nights  ago  with  your  brother  he  set 
upon  us,  and  did  his  best  to  kill  Captain  Heyworth,  who,  it 
now  seems  clear,  must  have  crossed  his  path  in  love.  The 
villain  is  dead,  you  say  ?" 


412 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Dick.  "  We  were  but  just  in  time  to 
save  the  lady,  whom  I  bore  from  the  inn,  and  my  comrade 
fought  it  out  with  the  traitor.  Was  my  brother  wounded 
by  him  ?" 

"  Well-nigh  strangled ;  we  had  much  ado  to  bring  him  to 
life  again,"  said  Sir  William ;  "  but  you  had  best  see  him  at 
once,  and  lose  no  time  in  taking  him  to  his  wife.  I  will 
write  you  a  pass  that  will  make  you  free  to  leave  the  town 
when  you  please.  An  affair  such  as  this  breaks  down  all 
differences  of  party." 

Dick  thanked  him  and  withdrew,  an  officer  escorting  him 
to  the  very  room  over  the  entrance  where  Denham  had  led 
him  to  a  very  different  interview  eighteen  months  before. 
Joscelyn's  astonishment  at  seeing  him  there,  his  delight  at 
finding  that  he  was  not  a  prisoner,  his  fierce  wrath  when  he 
learned  of  Original's  treachery,  all  served  to  drive  away  any 
recollections  of  the  pain  and  languor  which  he  had  been 
enduring  since  his  encounter,  partly  from  the  rough  hand- 
ling of  his  throat,  but  chiefly  from  the  disturbance  of  his 
old  Lansdown  wound. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  fierce  energy  that  seemed 
capable  of  anything,  and  borrowing  the  horse  which  be- 
longed to  Dick's  captor,  rode  with  his  brother  down  Castle 
Street  at  a  pace  which  made  people  stand  still  to  look  at 
them.  The  Bush,  where  he  had  once  been  thankful  to  buy 
a  supper  of  bread  and  cheese  with  Rosamond's  pence, 
seemed  little  changed  since  that  night  long  ago.  Its  square 
court-yard,  its  wooden  galleries,  and  air  of  cheerful  welcome 
were  in  themselves  reassuring,  and  Joscelyn,  catching  sight 
of  the  kindly-faced  landlady,  felt  a  momentary  relief  from 
his  torturing  anxiety. 

"This  way,  sir,"  she  said,  beckoning  him  forward. 
"Your  good  lady  will  do  well  enough  now  you  have  come, 
never  fear." 


413 

And,  indeed,  the  good  woman's  words  seemed  true,  for 
Clemency,  who  had  been  carried  up-stairs  more  dead  than 
alive,  revived  at  the  first  sound  of  her  husband's  voice, 
waking  in  a  very  heaven  of  peace  to  find  his  strong  arm 
round  her,  his  blue  eyes  gazing,  as  it  seemed,  into  her  very 
soul. 

Charlotte  stole  away  quietly  into  the  adjoining  room,  fain 
to  admit  to  herself  that  every  bone  in  her  body  ached  with 
the  weary  journey  and  the  extreme  anxiety  she  had  suffered. 
For  once  in  her  life  the  good  soul  felt  utterly  despondent. 
Of  the  death  of  Original  Smith  she  scarcely  dared  to  think, 
and  the  future  of  her  young  mistress  seemed  to  her  over- 
tired brain  hopelessly  dark  and  lowering.  Troubles  pressed 
her  in  on  every  side,  and  Charlotte  had  never  been  nearer 
breaking  down  into  a  fit  of  irrepressible  weeping  when, 
happening  to  glance  from  the  window  into  the  pleasant  gar- 
den of  the  inn,  she  changed  her  mind  and  began  to  laugh 
instead. 

"  Well,"  she  thought  to  herself,  her  whole  face  radiant 
with  smiles,  "  to  think  that  good  should  come  of  such  a  sore 
misfortune  as  this !  He  be  as  well-spoken  a  young  gentle- 
man as  ever  I  set  eyes  on,  and  one  after  Sir  Robert's  own 
heart,  save  for  his  being  a  King's  man.  For  the  matter  of 
that,  there's  always  something  to  put  up  with.  And  belike 
the  war  will  soon  end,  and  we  shall  have  another  wedding 
at  the  Court-house.  Only  to  think  of  it !  And  me,  faith- 
less woman  that  I  am,  thinking  only  last  Lord's  day  that 
there  would  be  no  men  left  to  wed  my  bonny  ladies  after 
such  a  day  of  fighting !" 

And  Charlotte,  more  refreshed  by  the  sight  of  a  living 
love-story  than  by  the  strongest  cordial  that  could  have  been 
given  her,  sank  down  into  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  and  re- 
lapsed into  a  happy  dream,  wherein  the  weaving  of  Hes- 
ter's wedding-linen  occupied  a  prominent  place. 


414 

Meanwhile,  in  the  sheltered  alleys  beside  the  bowling 
green,  Hester  and  Dick  paced  to  and  fro,  unmindful  of  the 
cold  March  wind,  unmindful  of  wars  and  divisions,  Dick 
ardently  declaring  his  love,  and  Hester  fully  persuaded  in 
her  mind  that  their  gallant  helper  was  the  one  man  in  the 
whole  world  for  whom  she  could  leave  home  and  kindred 
with  Rebekah's  cheerful  alacrity. 

Hester  was  not  so  well  versed  in  French  romances  as 
Mistress  Anne  Barrington;  she  had  no  notion  of  saying 
anything  but  the  simple  truth  when  Dick  begged  that  at 
the  close  of  the  war  he  might  come  to  Sir  Robert  Neal  to 
ask  her  hand  if  the  King's  cause  should  triumph. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  I  will  not  have  that  condition 
thrown  in.  But,  rather,  will  ask  you  to  see  my  grandfather 
whichever  way  the  tide  turns." 

"  Alas !"  said  Dick,  "  you  do  not  understand  that  if  the 
King  does  not  prevail  I  shall  be  ruined,  and  in  no  position 
to  ask  you  to  wed  me." 

But  quiet  Hester  held  firmly  to  what  she  said,  and  would 
on  no  account  allow  him  to  kiss  her  until  he  had  vowed  to 
come  to  the  Court-house  whether  conquered  or  triumphant. 
So  he  promised  and  won  the  kiss,  and  Hester  ran  back  to 
the  inn  in  a  tumult  of  happiness,  trying  to  scold  herself  for 
being  happy  at  such  a  tragic  time,  but  finding  it  a  wonder- 
ful relief  to  tell  her  tale  to  the  faithful  nurse  who  had  done 
so  much  for  her  ever  since  her  babyhood. 

"  Be  patient,  my  dear,"  said  Charlotte.  "  The  war  can- 
not last  forever,  and  since  we  shall  assuredly  be  kept 
here  for  some  time,  your  sister  being  unfit  for  travel,  I 
will  borrow  a  spinning-wheel,  and  we  will  set  to  work, 
for  there  is  no  saying  when  a  fresh  store  of  linen  may  be 
needed !" 

The  three  women  had  sore  need  of  some  fresh  interest  to 
distract  their  minds  during  the  month  that  followed ;  Dick 


snatched  two  more  interviews  with  Hester  before  returning 
to  Lord  Hopton  at  Winchester ;  and  Joscelyn  was  able  to 
pay  them  constant  visits  until,  just  before  Lady  Day,  Wal- 
ler's forces  left  Farnham.  Never  had  he  felt  more  despond- 
ent, poor  fellow,  than  on  the  day  when  they  set  out  to  West 
Meon.  The  active  work  for  which,  since  the  siege  of  Arun- 
del,  he  had  been  longing,  had  at  last  come  ;  but  he  had  been 
forced  to  leave  his  wife  at  the  time  of  all  others  when  she 
most  needed  him,  and  he  was  marching  to  an  almost  certain 
encounter  with  Dick — Dick,  whose  death  would  mean  now 
not  merely  his  own  bitter  grief,  but  the  shipwreck  of  Hes- 
ter's happiness.  Yet  perhaps  he  was  less  to  be  pitied  than 
the  sad-hearted  woman  at  the  Bush,  who  waited  through 
those  spring  days  with  an  agonizing  desire  for  news.  At 
length,  on  the  3oth  of  March,  came  tidings  of  a  great  victory 
gained  by  Waller  over  the  Royalists  at  Cheriton ;  and  the 
next  day  old  Barnaby,  the  gate-keeper  at  Shortell,  arrived  at 
the  inn.  He  could  give  them  no  details  of  the  battle,  but 
handed  them  a  letter  from  Rosamond  and  a  scrap  of  paper 
which  had  been  brought  to  the  manor  by  his  son,  the  groom 
rescued  by  Joscetyn  at  Edgehill.  Clemency,  with  trembling 
hands,  unfolded  her  husband's  hastily  scrawled  note.  There 
were  but  half  a  dozen  lines,  yet  they  took  a  great  load  of 
anxiety  from  her  mind. 

"  Dear  Heart,  God  hath  granted  us  a  victory  at  Cheri- 
ton which  will  assuredly  hasten  the  coming  of  peace.  I 
have  certain  tidings  through  Robin  the  groom  of  the  well- 
being  of  my  father  and  brothers,  and  am  myself  safe  and 
unharmed.  We  press  on  to  Winchester  with  all  speed. 
Have  a  care  of  yourself,  sweet  wife,  and  send  me  word — " 
Here  the  sentence  broke  off  abruptly,  and  Clemency,  eagerly 
opening  the  second  letter,  found  a  very  ill-spelled  and  curi- 
ously written  note  from  Rosamond. 


"DERE  SISTER,"  it  began — "Robbin  rode  here  at  mid- 
nite  with  tydings  that  my  father  and  Dick  and  Jervis  is  es- 
caped to  Basing ;  they  got  no  woonds,  and  sayd  they  sore 
Joscelyn,  and  he  was  well  and  fort  gallantly.  This  was 
sayd  in  their  message  to  my  mother.  Robbin  came  una- 
wairs  upon  Joscelyn  at  Alresford,  witch  was  taken  by  Sir 
W.  Waller  when  left  by  the  King's  trups ;  he  had  but  a  fue 
minnits  to  rite  you,  and  ere  he  was  ended  was  forced  to  set 
out  with  the  army  to  Wichester.  Robbin  sayd  he  had  got 
no  woond  in  the  battel,  nort  but  cold  and  stiffniss  from  ly- 
ing in  the  damp  feelds  of  nites.  I  pray  you  will  pardon 
this  letter  from  yur  sister  hoo  wood  fain  see  you  if  she  was 
aloud.  ROSAMOND  HEYWORTH." 

After  that  messengers  frequently  passed  through  the 
town  with  letters  to  the  Parliament,  and  in  this  way  they 
heard  of  Waller's  successes  at  Winchester,  Andover,  Salis- 
bury, and  Christchurch.  But,  as  usual,  the  Conqueror's  tri- 
umph was  marred  by  the  conduct  of  the  trainbands,  who 
steadily  refused  to  push  on  into  Dorsetshire,  and  insisted 
on  returning  to  London. 

Thus  it  happened  that  on  the  i2th  of  April  Joscelyn  once 
more  crossed  the  court-yard  of  the  Bush  at  Farnham. 

Striding  up  the  outer  staircase  he  came  upon  Charlotte 
in  the  gallery,  and  was  at  once  set  at  rest  by  her  beaming 
face. 

"Let  me  but  just  prepare  my  mistress,  sir,"  she  said. 
"  Maybe  the  joy  would  be  overmuch  for  her." 

"Go  in  with  your  face  like  that,  Charlotte,"  he  said, 
laughing,  "  and  she  will  know  all  at  a  glance." 

Charlotte  bustled  down  the  gallery,  and  a  minute  later 
Joscelyn,  his  patience  wholly  exhausted,  followed  her  into 
the  wainscoted  room  which  he  had  so  often  pictured  to  him- 
self. There,  in  the  daintiest  of  lying-in  caps,  her  pale  face 


417 

radiant  with  happiness,  lay  Clemency,  and  nestled  up  to 
her  he  caught  sight  of  the  tiniest  dark,  downy  head  he  had 
ever  seen. 

"  Tis  a  little  son,"  she  said,  when  they  had  leisure  for 
words. 

"  When  ?"  questioned  Joscelyn,  still  breathless  with  the 
relief  and  surprise. 

"  Well,  dear  heart,"  said  Clemency,  laughing,  "  he  but  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  born  on  All-Fools'  Day  ;  but  Charlotte 
vows  that  the  bellman  had  cried  midnight,  so  we  will  take 
her  word  that  'twas  the  second  day  of  April.  'Twas  within 
thirty  hours  of  my  getting  your  letter  through  old  Barnaby, 
which  arrived  in  good  time  to  comfort  me." 

"  That  hasty  note,"  cried  Joscelyn,  remembering  with  a 
pang  how  little  it  had  contained.  "  I  felt  such  an  oaf 
after  the  fight  was  over,  and  before  I  had  writ  half  a  dozen 
lines  the  drums  beat  to  arms,  and  I  had  to  see  about  getting 
Robin  safely  past  the  sentinels  before  we  set  off  to  Win- 
chester. My  sweet  life,  had  I  but  known  how  it  was  with 
you !" 

"  Your  son  will  be  jealous,"  said  Clemency.  "  You  must 
spare  some  of  your  kisses  for  him,  sir." 

Joscelyn  looked  with  loving  pride  at  the  tiny  infant,  but 
seemed  in  mortal  terror  of  dropping  it  when  Clemency  put 
it  in  his  arms. 

"  You  are  sure  it  is  large  enough  ?"  he  asked,  as  though 
astounded  that  a  perfect  specimen  of  humanity  could  exist 
in  so  small  a  compass,  and  wondering  secretly  whether  his 
son's  head  could  be  compared  in  size  with  a  large  orange  or 
a  small  cocoanut. 

Clemency  laughed  with  delight  to  see  the  mixture  of  boy- 
ish astonishment  and  fatherly  pride  with  which  he  regarded 
his  child,  and  for  some  time  their  happiness  was  too  perfect 
to  admit  of  a  single  thought  of  the  war. 
-7 


4i8 

By-and-by,  however,  they  remembered  Hester,  and  began 
to  speak  of  Dick's  safety.  Joscelyn  could  give  no  later  ac- 
count than  that  brought  by  Robin,  the  groom,  to  Shortell, 
but  he  insisted  on  fetching  Hester  to  tell  her  how  he  had 
caught  sight  of  Dick  at  Cheriton,  and  the  girl  found  no  small 
comfort  in  listening  to  all  that  he  had  to  say  of  the  battle. 

She  sat  beside  the  wood  fire,  while  Charlotte  rocked  the 
baby's  cradle  on  the  other  side  of  the  hearth  ;  and  Joscelyn, 
sitting  at  the  bedside  with  Clemency's  white  face  pillowed 
on  the  orange  scarf  that  crossed  his  breast,  answered  their 
eager  questions. 

"  We  had  but  just  reached  West  Meon,"  he  said,  "  when 
tidings  came  that  Prince  Rupert  had  relieved  Newark,  which 
greatly  damped  our  spirits.  Then,  to  make  matters  worse, 
my  Lord  Forth  contrived  to  get  possession  of  Alresford  on 
the  London  road  before  we  could  reach  it.  We  spent  two 
nights  in  a  field  by  my  Lady  Stukely's  house  nigh  upon 
Cheriton,  and  often  did  we  wish  to  be  within  its  walls,  for 
the  ground  was  like  a  sponge,  and  cold  comfort  was  ours,  I 
assure  you." 

"  'Twas  there  you  took  the  cold  Robin  spoke  of  to  Ros- 
amond," said  Clemency. 

"  Aye,  and  some  of  the  enemy  were  no  better  off.  So  near 
to  us  were  they  that  the  sentinels  could  hear  each  other 
speak.  You  would  have  laughed  to  see  us  when  we  woke 
in  the  morning,  stiff  as  boards,  most  of  us,  and  with  good 
prospect  of  taking  my  Lord  Forth's  malady,  the  gout.  After 
a  day  of  skirmishing,  in  which  the  enemy  had  ever  the  ad- 
vantage, 'twas  actually  decided  to  retreat.  But  the  murmurs 
of  many  of  us,  and  the  stout  persistence  of  Captain  Birch, 
who  maintained  that  our  "  extremity  was  God's  oppor- 
tunity," made  Sir  William  Waller  change  his  mind.  And 
in  the  mist  and  darkness  we  contrived  by  God's  grace  to 
advance  and  take  possession  of  Cheriton  wood." 


419 

"  Were  you  there  ?"  asked  Clemency. 

"  No ;  when  day  dawned  we  of  the  cavalry — against  the 
customary  plan — were  set  in  the  fore-front,  not  on  the  wings. 
We  were  on  a  sort  of  common  that  went  among  the  country 
folk,  I  was  told,  by  the  name  of  East  Down  ;  'twas  below 
the  wood  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  and  early  in  the  day 
was  filled  with  mist  like  the  valley  of  Bath  before  the  battle 
of  Xansdown.  'Twas  a  strange  sight  as  the  mist  lifted  to 
see  on  our  left  the  river  gleaming  in  the  sun,  and  the  squat 
tower  of  Tichborne  Church  as  peaceful  looking  as  a  picture, 
while  straight  in  front  of  us  was  the  enemy— among  them, 
as  I  well  knew,  my  own  kinsfolk." 

"  Had  you  long  to  wait  ?"  asked  Hester. 

"  The  waiting  always  seems  long.  The  battle  began  with 
a  desperate  attack  on  Cheriton  wood  by  Hopton's  men.  They 
cleared  it,  and  'twas  thought  they  would  pursue  their  advan- 
tage ;  but  they  paused,  and  no  one  knows  how  the  day  would 
have  gone  with  us  had  not  a  gallant  Cavalier,  too  impetuous, 
it  seems,  to  obey  orders,  charged  with  his  men  down  into 
our  valley.  Poor  fellow,  he  died  bravely;  but  his  rash  act 
gave  us  the  victory,  though  for  a  time  they  that  followed  to 
rescue  him  drove  us  back.  Sir  William  Waller  had  a  narrow 
escape,  being  at  one  time  shut  off  from  all  but  three  of  his 
men.  I  never  saw  him  look  more  gallant  than  at  that  time, 
charging  as  he  did  without  his  head-piece." 

"  Was  it  then  that  you  saw  Dick  ?"  asked  Clemency. 

"Nay,  it  was  much  later,"  he  replied.  "  For  three  hours 
the  struggle  was  desperate.  The  Royalists  made  many  gal- 
lant charges,  and  fought  with  great  courage ;  but  we  were 
able  to  hold  the  opening  of  a  narrow  land  down  which  their 
troops  were  forced  to  come,  and  in  the  end  Sir  Arthur  Hazle- 
rigg  contrived  to  push  in  his  men  betwixt  the  Royalist  forces. 
'Twas  just  before  then  that  I  caught  sight  of  my  father  and 
Dick  in  the  lane." 


420 

He  broke  off  for  a  moment,  as  though  the  picture  came 
before  him  with  painful  clearness.  Clemency  raised  his 
hand  to  her  lips  tenderly. 

"They  saw  you,  too,"  she  said,  "and  sent  word  home 
that  you  fought  most  gallantly." 

"  I  never  came  nearer  to  throwing  down  my  sword,"  said 
Joscelyn,  with  a  break  in  his  voice.  "  But,  by  God's  grace, 
we  each  did  our  duty,  and  soon  they  were  forced  to  retreat, 
and  the  battle  was  over.  Once  in  the  last  charge  I  heard 
Dick's  voice  shouting  their  watchword,  which  that  day  was 
one  we  often  use — 'God  and  the  Cause ;'  and  as  they  were 
forced  to  turn,  my  father  cried  out  passionately  to  his  men, 
'  Face  them  !  face  them  !'  but  'twas  of  no  avail ;  they  were 
utterly  routed,  and  fled,  crying,  *  The  kingdom's  lost !'  " 

"What  was  your  field- word  that  day?"  asked  Clemency. 

"  Our  last  one  was  a  prayer — '  Jesus  bless  us  !'  and  I  never 
saw  the  men  fight  more  gallantly.  I  heard  one  of  Hopton's 
officers  swear  that  '  The  devil  was  in  the  Roundheads ;  they 
were  such  firemen  !'  " 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  few  minutes  ;  Clemency  looked 
at  her  little  son,  and  wondered  whether  his  father's  suffering 
would  be  the  purchase-money  paid  for  his  peace  and  safety, 
or  whether  he,  too,  would  be  called  at  some  later  time  to  take 
his  share  in  the  struggle  for  liberty.  How  strangely  must 
those  field-words  have  rung  out  upon  the  cold  March  air ! 
And  how  well  she  could  fancy  her  husband's  noble  face, 
with  its  stern  mouth  and  wistful  eyes,  as  he  resolutely 
pressed  on  in  the  fight,  praying  for  Christ's  blessing  on  the 
right,  praying,  too,  doubtless,  for  the  safety  of  those  whom 
he  loved. 

"  Was  that  your  last  sight  of  Dick  and  your  father  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  but  later  on,  as  you  know,  I  had  the 
good -fortune  to  fall  in  with  Robin,  the  groom,  and  heard 


421 

that  they  had  ridden  off  in  the  direction  of  Basing.  I 
chanced  to  be  sent  to  Alresford  with  some  of  the  men  in 
charge  of  certain  prisoners  that  were  severely  wounded ; 
Sir  William  Waller  was  anxious  to  show  all  courtesy  to  Sir 
Edward  Stawell,  who  had  fallen  into  our  hands  after  a  most 
desperate  attempt  to  aid  Sir  Henry  Bard,  the  one  that  I  told 
you  charged  with  such  rashness  against  orders.  At  Aires- 
ford  we  made  hasty  arrangements  for  Sir  Edward's  comfort. 
The  house  where  he  had  quartered  had,  however,  been 
burned  down  by  his  own  party  when  they  left  the  place,  and 
the  whole  of  Alresford  would  have  been  burned  had  not  our 
men  contrived  to  put  out  the  fire  after  four  or  five  houses 
were  destroyed.  'Twas  then,  just  as  I  had  got  the  wounded 
prisoners  such  aid  as  was  possible,  that  in  the  smoke  and 
smother  near  the  burned  quarter  I  chanced  on  Robin,  who 
had  doffed  his  red  ribbon,  and  hoped  to  get  through  our 
men  unheeded  and  carry  news  of  my  father's  safety  to 
Shortell.  I  had  five  minutes  in  which  to  write,  and  that 
was  all." 

"  You  think  they  reached  Basing  in  safety?"  asked  Hester. 

"  Aye ;  they  retreated  in  good  order,  and  we  could  gain 
no  further  advantage.  You  may  feel  at  rest  as  to  Dick.  In- 
deed, this  victory  may,  they  trust,  prove  a  turning-point  in 
the  war.  Before  it,  as  my  Lord  Essex  said  in  his  *  Remon- 
strance to  the  Lords '  the  other  day,  *  There  was  but  a  step 
between  us  and  death,  and — what  is  worse — slavery.'  But 
now  the  King's  plans  are  wholly  upset,  and  'tis  little  likely 
he  will  again  trouble  these  southeastern  counties.  If  only 
we  be  furnished  with  an  army  that,  as  Sir  William  saith,  is 
not  taken  to  pieces  perpetually  and  is  paid  with  regularity, 
there  will  soon  be  an  end  of  our  miseries." 

"  'Tis  scarce  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  soldiers  refuse  to 
go  forward,  when  there  is  neither  food  nor  pay,"  said  Clem- 
ency, "  and  methinks  the  officers  are  even  worse  off." 


422 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Joscelyn ;  "  did  we  depend  on  our 
pay  we  should  all  of  us  have  starved  long  since.  As  a  cap- 
tain of  horse  I  should  get  nine  guineas  a  week,  but  in  all  the 
time  I  have  served  we  have  had  but  five  weeks'  pay ;  and 
two  days  since  I  parted  with  my  last  sixpence  to  Major 
Rigby,  who  was  fain  to  borrow  money  to  pay  for  the  shoeing 
of  his  horse  !" 

Thus,  in  talk  over  past  difficulties,  in  eager  plans  for  a 
happy  future  when  peace  should  have  been  won,  and  in  rest- 
ful enjoyment  of  their  present  bliss,  the  time  passed  on. 
The  very  knowledge  that  this  bright  interval  must  of  neces- 
sity be  brief  seemed  to  heighten  its  value,  and  in  the  end 
they  were  given  a  longer  time  together  than  they  dared  to 
hope  for.  Very  happy  were  their  memories  of  the  old  Bush 
Inn ;  of  its  pleasant  garden,  where  in  the  sunny  spring  days 
Clemency  took  her  first  walk  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm ; 
of  the  little  sheltered  arbor  where  together  they  spent  so 
many  hours  ;  and  of  the  bowling-green  where  they  watched 
Charlotte  carrying  the  baby  to  and  fro,  with  Hester  in  at- 
tendance, her  thoughts  divided  between  the  absent  lover 
and  the  little  nephew,  whom  she  almost  worshipped. 

Joscelyn  was  able  to  get  a  few  days'  leave  at  the  begin- 
ning of  May,  in  order  to  escort  them  back  to  Katterham ; 
but  before  quitting  Farnham  he  took  his  child  to  the  old 
church  where  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  he  had  been 
forced  to  give  up  his  sword  to  Sir  John  Denham,  and  had 
heard  his  father  disown  him.  Brighter  days  had  dawned 
since  then,  even  though  the  war  still  raged,  and  it  was  with 
thankfulness  and  hope  that  they  saw  little  Tom  christened, 
naming  him  after  old  Sir  Thomas,  and  longing  for  the  time 
when  the  land  should  be  at  rest,  and  households  no  more 
divided. 

The  return  to  Katterham  was  too  much  shadowed  by  the 
near  approach  of  the  leave-taking  to  be  altogether  happy. 


423 

Yet  the  delight  of  showing  little  Tom  to  Sir  Robert  and  to 
Mrs.  Ursula  was  great ;  and  her  husband's  infectious  high 
spirits  buoyed  Clemency  up  until  the  actual  parting  came. 

"  I  shall  fight  with  twice  the  zeal  now  that  I  have  both 
wife  and  child  to  defend,"  said  Joscelyn,  as  he  was  about 
to  start. 

But  Mrs.  Ursula,  who  was  touched  and  amused  to  find 
how  deftly  he  had  learned  to  carry  little  Tom,  saw  his  lip 
quiver  as  he  handed  the  infant  back  to  Charlotte,  and 
turned  to  them  with  hasty,  almost  wordless,  farewells. 

Charlotte's  tears  came  down  in  a  shower  as  the  young 
husband  and  wife  went  out  to  the  door  hand  in  hand ;  she 
begged  Mrs.  Ursula,  in  whom  she  had  great  faith,  not  to 
leave  her  mistress  alone;  but  no  one  dared  to  intrude  on 
those  last  few  moments. 

Clemency,  pale  as  death,  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak, 
could  only  cling  to  Joscelyn,  as,  whispering  tender  words 
of  endearment,  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  in  a  last  embrace ; 
then  tearing  himself  away,  and  strangling  a  sob  in  his  throat, 
he  marched  across  the  court-yard,  his  head  a  little  more  erect 
than  usual,  his  face  sad  and  stern  as  it  had  been  when  he 
made  the  last  charge  at  Cheriton.  Clemency  watched  him 
as  he  approached  the  inner  gate,  and  the  same  deadly  fear 
for  his  safety  which  had  first  taught  her  that  she  loved  re- 
turned now  with  tenfold  power  and  clutched  at  her  heart. 
For  a  moment  the  longing  to  call  him  back,  to  implore  him 
for  her  sake  not  to  risk  his  life,  was  almost  irresistible.  But 
her  eye  chanced  to  fall  on  the  York  and  Lancaster  rose-bush 
twining  round  the  gate  -  post,  the  first  green  leaves  just  un- 
folding. There  flashed  into  her  mind  a  vision  of  John 
Hampden's  face  on  the  summer  evening  long  ago  when  she 
had  sung  to  him,  and  the  thought  of  the  dead  patriot  nerved 
her  heart.  Cost  what  it  might,  she  would  be  true  to  the 
country;  and  as  Joscelyn,  having  mounted  Hotspur,  turned 


424 

to  wave  a  last  farewell,  her  face  lighted  up  with  a  brave, 
cheering  smile,  which  lived  on  in  his  heart  for  many  a  day. 

It  was  only  when  she  had  caught  the  last  possible  glimpse 
of  her  husband  that  her  powers  utterly  failed.  Bursting  into 
a  passion  of  tears,  she  fell  on  Mrs.  Ursula's  neck,  sobbing 
as  though  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula,  tenderly,  "  take  comfort ; 
he  has  been  spared  through  many  campaigns." 

But  Clemency  sobbed  on  with  never  a  word  of  reply. 
She  could  not  even  to  loving  Mrs.  Ursula  speak  of  the  ter- 
rible conviction  that  had  gained  possession  of  her — a  con- 
viction which  had  not  come  to  torture  her  in  their  previous 
partings — that  never  again  should  she  see  her  husband  ride 
forth  from  the  door.  The  partings  at  Gloucester  had  been 
hard  enough  to  endure,  the  leave-taking  at  Farnham  a  griev- 
ous strain  upon  her  self-control,  the  farewells  spoken  on 
that  threshold  of  the  Court-house  had  always  been  very 
bitter,  but  this  time  her  brain  seemed  to  reel,  her  faith  to 
vanish  into  despair.  For  it  was  borne  in  upon  her,  in  a 
manner  inexplicable,  but  wholly  convincing,  that  Joscelyn's 
career  was  near  its  end,  and  that  the  call  to  suffer  to  the 
uttermost,  to  yield  all  for  the  sake  of  the  English  people 
and  their  liberties,  was  now  to  be  given. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

I  do  not  fear  to  follow  out  the  truth, 
Albeit  along  the  precipice's  edge. 
Let  us  speak  plain  :  there  is  more  force  in  names 
Than  most  men  dream  of  ;  and  a  lie  may  keep 
Its  throne  a  whole  age  longer  if  it  skulk 
Behind  the  shield  of  some  fair-seeming  name. 
Let  us  call  tyrants,  tyrants^  and  maintain 
That  only  freedom  comes  by  grace  of  God. 

— LOWELL. 

IN  the  first  faint  light  of  Sunday  morning,  the  2 7th  of  Oc- 
tober, a  considerable  body  of  Parliamentary  troops  might 
have  been  descried  on  a  bleak  heath  in  Berkshire.  Evi- 
dently they  were  expecting  an  engagement  to  take  place 
shortly,  for  they  slept  as  best  they  could  in  the  open  air, 
each  man  with  his  weapons  beside  him.  A  little  removed 
from  the  rest,  Waller,  greatly  worn  and  aged  by  the  vexa- 
tions of  the  summer's  campaign,  sat  in  close  converse  with 
Cromwell,  who  "  called  cousins  "  with  him,  though  they  were 
connections  rather  than  actual  kinsmen.  He  had  listened 
during  the  long  hours  of  the  night  to  many  a  detail  of  Crom- 
well's great  victory  at  Marston  Moor,  and  in  low  tones  the 
two  had  discussed  the  grievous  divisions  and  jealousies 
which  threatened  to  ruin  their  cause.  Waller  had  more 
than  once  called  to  mind  Hampden's  remark  that  Crom- 
well would  prove  the  greatest  man  in  England,  and  wearily 
impatient  of  the  half-hearted  co-operation  of  Essex  and 
Manchester,  he  turned  with  relief  to  the  vigorous  practical 
worker  whose  genius  might  possibly  save  the  country. 

"  There  is  a  face  I  have  somewhere  seen  before,"  said 
Cromwell,  as,  the  light  gradually  increasing,  he  observed  at 


426 

no  great  distance  from  Waller  a  young  officer  stretched  at 
full  length  on  the  heather. 

"  'Tis  Captain  Heyworth,  formerly  a  cornet  in  John 
Hampden's  regiment,"  said  Waller.  "  He  hath  been  with 
me  close  upon  two  years,  and  young  though  he  is,  he  hath 
proved  one  of  my  best  and  most  faithful  officers.  He  is  a 
lad  of  a  very  ready  wit,  courteous  and  well-bred — a  great 
favorite  with  his  men,  and  the  best  hand  I  ever  met  at 
keeping  up  the  spirits  of  others  in  adversity." 

"  I  remember  him  now,"  said  Cromwell.  "  I  saw  him 
after  Edgehill.  Methinks  David  must  have  been  such  a  one 
as  this.  He  should  by  rights  have  a  fine  career  before  him." 

"  In  truth,  he  deserves  promotion,"  said  Waller,  "  and 
may,  I  hope,  obtain  it  when  at  length  we  get  the  new-mod- 
elled army  which  since  July  I  have  implored  the  commit- 
tee to  organize.  He  is  sober  and  God-fearing  in  victory, 
and  in  defeat  of  an  unshaken  zeal,  while  the  discipline  of 
war  hath  done  much  to  amend  his  natural  pride  and  impa- 
tience of  contradiction." 

Cromwell,  who  knew  the  great  straits  to  which  Waller's 
army  had  been  put  that  summer,  and  the  disgraceful  way 
in  which  it  had  been  sacrificed,  first  by  Lord  Essex  and  then 
by  Lord  Manchester,  marvelled  as  he  looked  across  at  the 
young  officer  to  find  neither  bitterness  nor  dissatisfaction 
in  the  face,  which  even  in  repose  retained  something  of  its 
bright  humorous  expression,  and  bore  no  traces  of  the 
weary  war  save  in  a  certain  hollowness  about  the  cheeks. 
Joscelyn  was  wrapped  in  the  profound  sleep  that  sometimes 
follows  very  arduous  work ;  beside  him  lay  his  sword  and 
helmet,  and  the  keen  wind  blew  his  long  hair  to  and  fro  and 
flapped  vigorously  at  the  cloak  in  which  he  was  enveloped 
without  in  the  least  disturbing  him.  A  more  perfect  picture 
of  peace  in  the  midst  of  war,  of  rest  amid  strife,  could  not 
have  been  found. 


427 

"  Our  cousin  Hampden  had  a  quick  eye  to  discern  men's 
characters,"  said  Cromwell,  sighing  as  he  recalled  the 
genial  manner  and  the  stimulating  friendship  of  the  dead 
patriot.  "  I  remember  now  to  have  heard  that  Captain 
Heyworth  was  with  him  at  his  death.  I  would  fain  see 
more  of  him  when  to-day's  work  is  over.  The  man  that  can 
wear  that  look  after  nine  days'  continued  hard  duty  without 
any  quarters  is  of  brave  mettle.  The  sun  is  rising,  cousin  ; 
'tis  time  we  were  astir." 

Late  that  afternoon  it  chanced  that  Cromwell  once  again 
came  upon  Joscelyn  Heyworth. 

After  a  desperate  struggle,  the  Parliamentarians  had 
driven  Prince  Maurice  from  his  strong  position  on  Speen 
Hill,  and,  charging  furiously  down  into  the  valley,  had  driven 
the  Royalists  out  of  the  village.  Close  by  the  church  a  halt 
had  been  made;  and  Cromwell,  hearing  that  some  more 
guns  had  been  taken  from  the  enemy,  pressed  forward  into 
the  throng  by  the  church-yard  wall,  and  found  himself  close 
beside  Waller's  young  captain. 

Joscelyn,' his  face  aglow,  his  eyes  bright  with  eager  de- 
light, turned  towards  him  in  great  excitement. 

"They  have  retaken  some  of  the  guns,  sir,  which  my 
Lord  Essex  lost  in  Cornwall.  See  how  the  soldiers  hug 
them  in  their  joy  !" 

And  indeed  the  Puritan  soldiers,  who  had  eagerly  longed 
to  retrieve  their  honor,  were  shedding  tears  of  delight  at  the 
capture  they  had  been  able  to  make. 

"  Iron-huggers  !"  muttered  a  Royalist  prisoner,  contempt- 
uously, and  it  might  have  fared  ill  with  him  had  any  but 
Joscelyn  overheard  the  remark. 

The  term  tickled  his  sense  of  humor,  and  with  a  laugh  he 
observed,  "  I  would  turn  leather-hugger  could  we  but  recapt- 
ure the  leather  guns  we  lost  at  Cropredy." 

"  Are  you  aware,  friend,  that  you  are  wounded  ?"  said 


428 

Cromwell,  noticing  that  blood  was  dripping  from  his  neigh- 
bor's right  arm. 

In  the  keen  excitement  of  taking  the  village,  Joscelyn  had 
not  even  felt  the  musket-ball  which  had  struck  him  ;  but 
now  all  at  once  a  strange  giddiness  seized  him ;  the  crowd 
of  soldiers,  the  autumn  trees,  the  little  village  church,  the 
sun  sinking  in  the  west,  all  swam  before  his  eyes  in  a  weird 
medley ;  he  reeled  in  his  saddle,  and  would  have  fallen  had 
not  Cromwell  griped  hold  of  him. 

"  Ironside,"  as  he  had  been  dubbed  by  Prince  Rupert  in 
the  summer,  was  a  stern  foe  but  a  most  tender-hearted 
man  ;  he  loved  to  scatter  those  whom  he  thought  the  Lord's 
enemies  as  chaff  before  the  wind,  but  even  in  the  haste  and 
confusion  he  found  time  to  summon  to  the  aid  of  the 
wounded  man  a  certain  barber  with  some  knowledge  of 
surgery  who  chanced  to  be  in  his  troop.  Of  actual  sur- 
geons there  was  on  this  day  a  deplorable  dearth.  Joscelyn 
was  helped  into  the  nearest  cottage,  and,  reviving  in  a  few 
minutes,  he  heard  the  tramp  of  the  troops  as  they  passed 
by,  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  They  are  to  press  forward  to  Newbury  Field,"  he  cried, 
"and  I  am  not  there!" 

"  Patience,  sir,"  said  the  barber ;  "  you  have  done  good 
service,  and  now  must  leave,  it  to  others.  Have  the  good- 
ness to  place  yourself  in  the  posture  you  were  in  at  the  re- 
ceiving of  the  wound ;  that  was  the  wise  rule  of  the  great 
Ambroise  Pare  many  years  since,  and  it  will  help  me  to 
search  your  wound  with  greater  ease." 

The  ball  had  lodged  in  the  bone  of  the  arm,  not  causing 
a  fracture,  but  proving  difficult  to  remove.  Joscelyn  set  his 
teeth  hard,  and  all  the  time  looked  steadily  through  the 
open  casement,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  red  sun  as  it  sank 
slowly  towards  the  horizon,  while  from  a  little  distance  the 
sound  of  the  strife  floated  back  to  the  quiet  room.  He 


429 

could  almost  have  fancied  that  he  heard  the  familar  field- 
word,  "  God  our  strength  !"  shouted  by  his  own  men.  In 
his  great  suffering  the  words  rang  again  and  again  in  his 
ears. 

"  Tis  well  your  mother  can't  see  you,"  said  the  woman  of 
the  house,  as  with  pitying  eyes  she  held  a  cup  of  water  to 
his  lips.  In  a  moment  the  whole  scene  seemed  to  change  for 
him,  and  he  was  back  once  more  at  Shortell  Manor,  and 
his  mother,  with  grave  looks,  was  shrinking  from  him  in 
horror,  as  though  he  had  been  a  leper.  For  the  first  time 
he  winced. 

"  'Tis  well-nigh  ended,  sir,"  said  the  barber,  deftly  dress- 
ing the  wound.  Then  having  extemporized  a  sling  out  of 
the  orange  silk  scarf,  he  hurriedly  prepared  to  rejoin  his 
comrades. 

"  Wait,"  said  Joscelyn,  gulping  down  some  more  water. 
"  I,  too,  will  ride  forward.  We  can  yet  overtake  them." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  urged  the  barber,  "  'twould  be  rash  and  ill 
advised.  Lie  down  yonder  and  keep  still,  then  perchance 
you  may  be  able  for  to-morrow's  work.  The  wound  is  not 
severe.  You  may  be  fit  to  lead  your  men  erelong  if  you 
keep  quiet." 

"  To-morrow  the  battle  will  be  over,"  said  Joscelyn,  keen- 
ly disappointed  that  he  could  not  press  forward  for  that  last 
quarter  of  a  mile,  which  was  likely  to  prove  the  hardest  part 
of  the  day's  work. 

"  Rest,  sir,  while  you  can,"  said  the  owner  of  the  house, 
pointing  to  a  truckle-bed  in  the  corner.  And  Joscelyn  was 
fain  to  take  the  advice.  When  the  good  woman  nervously 
insisted  on  closing  casement  and  door,  he  resigned  himself 
to  his  fate,  and  lay  rigidly  quiet,  watching  the  sunset  sky 
turn  from  crimson  to  gold,  from  gold  to  gray,  from  gray  to 
the  dusky  purple  of  night. 

At  last,  when  his  hostess  had  quitted  the  room  to  prepare 


43° 

supper,  he  dragged  himself  up,  and,  fumbling  awkwardly  at 
the  latch  with  his  left  hand,  opened  the  cottage  door,  and 
stepped  out  onto  the  threshold,  eagerly  trying  to  discover 
how  the  battle  was  going. 

The  night  was  dark  and  windy ;  every  now  and  then  came 
a  faint  gleam  of  light,  as  the  crescent  moon  emerged  from 
behind  swift-sailing  clouds,  and  by  this  uncertain  glimmer 
the  battle  was  still  being  waged.  Joscelyn,  leaning  against 
the  door-post,  could  see  little,  but  could  plainly  hear  the 
confused  uproar,  the  strange  blending  of  shouts,  cries, 
groans,  trampling  of  horse-hoofs,  clashing  of  arms,  sharp 
rattle  of  musketry,  while  from  a  neighboring  house  came 
the  heart-rending  moans  of  a  man  dying  in  torments. 

The  sight  of  the  village  church  and  the  quiet  graveyard 
close  by  reminded  him  that  it  was  Sunday  evening,  and  with 
some  prickings  of  conscience  for  having  entirely  forgotten 
the  day,  he  bent  his  head,  praying  very  earnestly  that  the 
right  might  triumph,  and  that  a  peace  founded  on  righteous- 
ness might  be  won  through  the  strife. 

When  the  next  morning  he  woke  from  sound  sleep  he 
found  Morrison  bending  over  him  with  an  anxious  face. 

"  What  of  the  battle  ?"  he  asked,  eagerly.  "  What  news  do 
you  bring?" 

"  There  was  not  light  enough,  sir,  to  fight  it  out  thorough- 
ly, and  this  morning  'twas  discovered  that  the  King  had 
stolen  away  in  the  night  as  noiselessly  as  Sir  William  Waller 
retreated  from  Lansdown." 

"  What !"  cried  Joscelyn  in  dismay  ;  "  they  let  the  entire 
army  give  us  the  slip  ?  But  there  is  to  be  a  pursuit,  surely  ?" 

He  started  up,  and  with  Morrison's  help  was  equipped 
and  mounted  some  time  before  the  start  could  be  made. 

* 

His  hostess  remonstrated,  but  at  the  same  time  provided 
him  with  a  good  breakfast ;  and  wonderfully  refreshed  by 
his  long  sleep,  and  stimulated  by  the  delight  of  his  men  in 


431 

having  him  with  them  again,  he  felt  able  to  bear  the  pain 
of  his  wound. 

"  'Tis  not  a  severe  one,"  he  always  replied,  quoting  the 
barber's  comforting  assurance  to  all  inquirers. 

"The  lack  of  surgeons  will  doubtless  be  supplied,"  said 
Cromwell,  who  chanced  once  more  to  cross  Joscelyn's  path. 
"  'Tis  to-day  to  be  mentioned  in  the  letter  to  the  committee, 
who  can  scarce  realize  how  miserable  it  is  to  see  men  that 
have  been  wounded  in  the  defence  of  the  public  wanting 
means  of  cure." 

Joscelyn  found  that  though  upon  one  side  the  second 
battle  of  Newbury  might  be  accounted  a  victory,  yet  it 
should  have  been  a  much  greater  and  more  complete  suc- 
cess. The  troops  upon  the  Speen  side,  under  Skippon, 
Balfour,  Waller,  and  Cromwell,  had  prospered  well,  but 
Manchester  had  failed  in  the  work  allotted  to  him,  timidly 
hesitating  and  putting  off  the  attack  till  long  after  the  ap- 
pointed time,  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  his  officers. 

"Are  we  forever  to  be  thwarted  by  half-hearted  noble- 
men ?"  exclaimed  Joscelyn,  impatiently. 

"  In  truth,  it  seems  like  it,"  said  Waller,  "  for  here  is  a 
message  just  followed  us  from  my  Lord  Manchester,  urging 
us  to  turn  back  and  give  up  the  pursuit." 

The  message  was  met  by  a  refusal,  and  the  troops  still 
pressed  on,  none  the  better  pleased  with  Lord  Manchester 
for  his  attempt  to  turn  them  back  from  a  pursuit  which  had 
been  rendered  necessary  by  his  own  carelessness. 

"There  is  another  point  in  Captain  Heyworth's  favor," 
observed  Cromwell  to  Waller,  with  a  smile.  "  He  doth  not 
love  lords !  It  will  not  be  well  with  us  till  my  Lord  Man- 
chester is  but  Mr.  Montague,  as  I  once  told  him  to  his  face." 

Waller's  countenance  was  a  curious  study;  Joscelyn 
guessed  that  the  remark  grated  on  his  sense  of  decorum, 
and  that  he  was  very  far  from  sharing  his  companion's  views. 


432 

Yet  this  bold,  aggressive  leader  of  men  was  at  present  far 
better  to  work  with  than  the  timid  earl,  whose  lack  of  zeal 
and  promptitude  would  go  far  towards  keeping  the  country 
in  all  the  miseries  of  war  for  many  months  to  come. 

The  troops  galloped  on  through  woods  and  lanes  and 
across  a  wide  heath,  halting  at  last  beneath  the  Downs  at 
the  little  village  of  Blewbury,  only  to  learn  that  the  King's 
army  had  crossed  the  river  at  Wallingford,  and  had  gained 
country  where  it  would  be  impossible  for  them  to  pursue 
without  the  aid  of  the  foot-soldiers.  In  vain  Cromwell  and 
Waller,  returning  to  the  Earl  of  Manchester,  implored  him 
to  support  them  with  the  infantry;  he  refused  to  stir,  and 
betrayed  so  marked  a  craving  for  peace  at  any  price,  and 
such  a  hopeless  lack  of  all  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  a 
good  leader,  that  the  luckless  generals  who  were  supposed 
to  co-operate  with  him  were  almost  in  despair. 

During  the  days  that  followed,  Joscelyn,  with  his  usual 
hopefulness,  was  making  what  he  deemed  a  steady  recov- 
ery. One  of  the  surgeons  sent  down  from  London  had 
reported  well  of  his  wound,  and  as  there  were  hundreds  of 
far  more  severe  cases  to  be  attended  to,  he  was  satisfied 
with  one  examination.  But  unfortunately  the  very  slight- 
ness  of  the  injury  proved  its  danger.  Had  he  been  entirely 
invalided  all  might  have  gone  well,  but  he  was  able  to  keep 
about,  and  insisted  on  sharing  in  his  men's  discomforts, 
protesting  that  many  of  them  were  far  more  ill  than  he  was. 
Indeed,  it  was  too  true  that  the  troops  were  suffering  griev- 
ously, and  the  sight  of  this  was  enough  to  have  moved  even 
a  less  considerate  officer.  The  quarters,  first  at  Blewbury 
and  afterwards  on  Newbury  Wash,  on  the  south  of  the 
Kennet,  were  miserably  uncomfortable.  To  add  to  their 
distress,  the  rain  and  cold  of  that  wintry  November  proved 
"  of  such  extremity  as  hath  seldom  been  seen."  The  horses 
died  by  hundreds,  many  of  the  soldiers  deserted,  and  those 


433 

who  were  left  murmured  greatly  against  the  Earl  of  Man- 
chester, who,  either  from  sheer  stupidity  or  from  a  desire 
to  avoid  a  long  winter  campaign,  had  actually  sent  away 
to  Abingdon  the  food  so  much  needed  by  the  army,  which 
the  committee  had  at  last  sent  to  them  by  water. 

"  'Tis  well  enough  for  him  in  his  lodgings  at  Newbury," 
murmured  old  Major  Newell  to  Joscelyn  one  day  as  they 
rode  together  on  a  foraging  expedition.  "  If  he  were  quar- 
tered as  we  are  he  would  bestir  himself  to  some  purpose. 
I  marvel  what  he  doth  with  himself  all  day." 

"  Hopes  for  peace,  and  plays  the  royal  game  of  goose," 
said  Joscelyn,  with  a  laugh. 

"  In  good  sooth,  he  hath  played  that  bird  throughout  the 
campaign,"  said  the  major.  "  Always  for  not  stirring  when 
it  was  essential  to  be  prompt  and  active,  ordering  impos- 
sible marches  when  the  horses  had  scarce  a  leg  to  stand 
upon,  thwarting  our  general  at  every  turn,  and  in  this  affair 
of  Donnington  Castle  acting  as  though  it  were  well-nigh  his 
object  to  suit  the  King's  convenience." 

At  this  moment  they  halted  at  a  little -hamlet,  and  the 
major,  dismounting,  made  his  way  into  the  most  promising 
and  prosperous-looking  house,  while  Joscelyn  waited  in  the 
road.  Presently  his  companion  reappeared  in  the  cottage 
doorway  and  beckoned  to  him. 

"  Come,  sir,"  he  called ;  "  you  were  ever  the  best  hand  at 
catering.  See  if  you  cannot  cajole  some  provisions  out  of 
this  woman." 

Joscelyn  stepped  forward.  "  Good  dame,"  he  said,  in  his 
pleasant  voice,  "  we  are  well-nigh  starving.  Can  you  not 
give  us  food  of  some  sort  ?" 

The  woman  hesitated.  It  was  difficult  to  resist  the  ap- 
peal of  this  yellow  -  haired  boy,  with  his  hungry,  wistful 
eyes.  Moreover,  the  arm  in  a  sling  softened  her  heart. 
But  just  then  her  children,  terrified  as  the  little  room  grew 
28 


434 

more  and  more  full  of  soldiers,  ran  towards  her  and  clung 
to  her  gown. 

"  I  have  naught  for  you,  sir,"  she  faltered.  "  There  are 
many  of  us.  I  have  naught." 

"  We  will  see  about  that,"  said  the  soldiers,  pressing 
forward  desperately.  One  of  them  uncovered  the  brick 
oven  and  drew  forth  in  triumph  a  batch  of  loaves.  The 
smell  of  the  hot  bread  made  the  ravenous  men  almost 
frantic.  In  a  trice  they  had  divided  it  between  them,  and 
had  trooped  out  of  the  cottage,  one  of  them,  who  was  spe- 
cially fond  of  Joscelyn,  pausing  to  thrust  into  his  hands  the 
top  of  a  -loaf.  The  major  did  not  interfere,  and  walked 
grimly  off  munching  a  crust.  The  woman  wiped  her  eyes 
with  her  apron. 

"  One  may  put  loaves  into  the  oven  nowadays,"  she 
said,  piteously,  "  but  there's  no  knowing  who  will  take  them 
out !" 

"  The  men  are  half  starved,"  said  Joscelyn,  lingering  for 
a  moment,  and  ashamed  to  find  that  his  craving  to  eat  the 
bread  he  held  made  him  grudge  even  this  brief  delay.  "We 
have  neither  food,  nor  firing,  nor  shelter,  and  we  are  doing 
our  best  to  defend  you." 

"  Small  use  in  defence,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  "  if  we  are 
left  to  famish.  When  life  is  taken,  what  will  there  be  to 
defend  ?" 

"  True,"  he  said,  faintly.  And  putting  the  bread  into  the 
hand  of  the  nearest  child,  he  turned  away. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  a  discussion  was  going  on  as  to 
the  way  in  which  the  scanty  rations  were  to  be  apportioned, 
he  made  Waller  laugh  even  in  the  midst  of  his  depression. 

"  Feed  the  feeble-minded,  sir,"  he  said,  "  or  they  will  be 
running  to  Abingdon." 

"  And  let  the  best  men  starve,  eh  ?"  said  Waller.  "  'Tis 
my  belief  you  yourself  are  well-nigh  starving." 


435 

Joscelyn  was,  in  truth,  sick  with  hunger,  but  his  spirits 
had  not  altogether  deserted  him. 

"  I  have  longed  all  day,"  he  said,  laughingly,  "  for  Nebu- 
chadnezzar's appetite  for  grass.  There  is  plenty  of  that 
ready  to  hand,  and  naught  besides  —  not  even  a  be- 
lated bramble  to  give  us  a  few  berries.  Were  there  shew- 
bread  in  England,  I  would  certainly  follow  David's  ex- 
ample!" 

But  the  next  day  he  was  not  even  hungry ;  and  his  face 
wore  such  a  haggard  look  that  Major  Newell  urged  him  to 
give  up  and  own  that  he  was  unfit  for  work. 

"  'Tis  scarce  a  time  to  think  of  one's  own  ease,  sir,"  he 
replied,  despondently.  "  See  how  rapidly  our  numbers  are 
diminishing,  and  I  can  surely  hold  out  till  we  have  met  the 
King  once  more  as  he  returns.  We  shall,  I  hope,  strike  one 
more  good  blow  for  the  cause  before  going  into  winter 
quarters." 

"  Aye,  'tis  to  be  hoped  we  shall,"  said  the  major  ;  but  he 
looked  rather  doubtfully  at  the  feverishly  bright  eyes  and 
flushed  face  of  his  young  comrade. 

All  that  day  the  pain  of  Joscelyn's  wounded  arm  was 
almost  intolerable ;  he  began  to  feel  less  confident  as  to  the 
possibility  of  keeping  about. 

"What  is  amiss,  lad  ?''  said  Waller,  in  the  evening,  chanc- 
ing to  find  him  alone  in  the  miserable  quarters,  and  ob- 
serving the  profound  dejection  of  his  whole  attitude.  Jos- 
celyn roused  up  a  little  in  response,  and  tried  to  make  light 
of  his  suffering. 

"  Methinks,  sir,"  he  said,  "  'tis  gout  settled  in  the  wound, 
but  assuredly  it  hath  not  come  from  luxurious  diet !" 

Waller  was  shocked  at  his  almost  hectic  coloring  and  at 
the  ghastly  suffering  which  was  plainly  visible  beneath  the 
thin  veil  of  forced  gayety. 

"  To-morrow  you  go  into  decent  lodgings  at  Newbury," 


436 

he  said,  in  a  tone  of  authority,  "  and  I  myself  shall  speak  a 
word  with  the  surgeon." 

The  intense  pain  gradually  passed  off,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing, though  very  weak  and  miserable,  Joscelyn  imagined 
that  he  was  better.  Waller,  however,  insisted  that  he  should 
go  to  Newbury,  and,  true  to  his  word,  was  himself  present 
when  the  surgeon  made  his  examination. 

"The  pain  was  severe  last  night,"  said  Joscelyn,  "but  to- 
day I  have  none  ;  to-day  I  am  better." 

"On  the  contrary,  sir,"  said  the  surgeon,  bluntly;  "to-day 
you  are  much  worse.  Unless  you  lose  your  arm,  your  life 
is  not  worth  a  week's  purchase.  Mortification  has  set  in." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

My  God  !  when  I  read  o'er  the  bitter  lives 

Of  men  whose  eager  hearts  were  quite  too  great 

To  beat  beneath  the  cramped  mode  of  the  day, 

And  see  them  mocked  at  by  the  world  they  love, 

Haggling  with  prejudice  for  pennyworth's 

Of  that  reform  which  their  hard  toil  will  make 

The  common  birthright  of  the  age  to  come — 

When  I  see  this,  spite  of  my  faith  in  God, 

I  marvel  how  their  hearts  bear  up  so  long; 

Nor  could  they  but  for  this  same  prophecy, 

This  inward  feeling  of  the  glorious  end. 

— LOWELL. 

THUS  it  came  to  pass  that  in  an  unlooked-for  and  unwel- 
come fashion  Joscelyn  lost  his  wish  of  striking  one  more 
blow  for  the  good  cause  before  going  into  winter  quarters  ; 
it  seemed  that  he  could  now  only  serve  by  suffering. 

Waller,  grieved  beyond  measure  to  lose  his  favorite,  re- 
plied sadly  enough  to  Cromwell's  questions  as  that  evening 
they  supped  together.  "  Thus  ends  one  of  the  most  promis- 
ing careers,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  The  injury  was  nothing 
like  as  severe  as  that  he  got  at  Lansdown,  but  the  cold  and 
wet  and  starvation  were  fatal  to  recovery." 

"  How  did  he  bear  the  news  ?"  asked  Cromwell. 

"  The  surgeon  told  him  bluntly  that  he  was  a  dead  man 
unless  the  arm  were  at  once  taken  off,"  said  "Waller,  "and 
for  a  minute,  poor  fellow,  he  seemed  wholly  crushed,  but 
quickly  pulled  himself  together,  and  began  to  speak  to  me 
of  various  arrangements  that  he  would  have  made  if  his 
death  ensued,  and  charged  me  with  messages  to  his  wife, 
and  with  instructions  about  the  future  of  his  child." 

"  What !     He  is  married,  then  ?" 


438 

"  Aye,  at  Gloucester,  before  the  siege.  God  grant  that  he 
may  recover !  They  say  at  present  he  does  well,  and  his 
sober  life  is  all  in  his  favor ;  but  then  to  set  against  that  one 
must  remember  the  severe  strain  of  this  last  month's  work, 
with  its  cruel  hardships." 

"  To-morrow  I  would  fain  see  him,"  said  Cromwell. 

While  the  two  spoke  thus  together  Joscelyn  was  struggling 
alone  through  his  "  Valley  of  Humiliation,"  and  had  gone 
but  a  little  way  before  he  "  espied  a  foul  fiend  coming  to 
meet  him  whose  name  was  Anxiety."  An  intolerable  dread 
of  the  future  for  Clemency  and  little  Tom  if  he  died,  an  in- 
tolerable dread  of  the  crippled  existence  he  must  lead  if  he 
should  recover,  alternately  swayed  his  mind,  while  grievous 
anxiety  for  the  distracted  country  mingled  with  his  other 
cares,  gaining  in  the  night  an  extraordinary  power  over 
his  restless  brain,  which  seemed  to  be  fostered  rather  than 
checked  by  quiet  and  darkness. 

At  length,  however,  the  power  which  had  long  ruled  his 
life  asserted  itself ;  his  vigorous,  cheerful  faith  trampled 
down  the  assailing  cares  for  a  season,  and  with  resolute 
patience  he  brought  his  thoughts  into  captivity  to  that 
Higher  Will,  which  triumphed  over  the  tumult  and  gave 
him  rest. 

Cromwell,  paying  his  promised  visit  the  next  day,  and 
full  of  sad  memories  of  the  death  of  his  own  nephew  at 
Marston  Moor  after  a  somewhat  similar  operation,  looked 
searchingly  into  the  young  officer's  face,  and  was  reassured 
by  what  he  saw. 

"  Methinks  you  are  making  a  good  first  step  towards 
recovery.  May  the  Lord  be  your  strength,"  he  said,  his 
harsh-featured  face  transfigured  by  a  sympathy  which  came 
to  Joscelyn  as  a  revelation.  It  almost  seemed  to  him  for 
the  time  worth  losing  an  arm  to  gain  such  a  royal  gift. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  never  be  fit  to  fight  again  even 


439 

if  my  life  be  spared.  'Twill  make  the  thought  less  hard  if 
you  will  accept  from  me,  and  sometimes  ride  yourself,  my 
horse  Hotspur." 

Cromwell,  touched  by  the  spontaneous  offer  of  what  was 
evidently  so  much  valued,  thanked  him,  and  promised  to 
use  the  horse  at  any  rate  until  his  master  should  need  him 
again. 

"  He  is  out  of  condition,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  having  suffered 
well-nigh  as  much  as  we  have  done  these  last  weeks.  But 
he  is  a  good  horse,  and  has  seen  many  a  fight,  that  of 
Chalgrove  among  others.  I  shall  never  ride  him  more." 

A  look  of  profound  sadness  passed  over  his  face. 

"There  are  other  weapons  than  those  of  carnal  warfare," 
said  Cromwell,  laying  a  kindly  hand  on  his  head.  "  The 
Lord  hath  yet  a  work  for  you." 

With  that  thought  to  carry  him  through  his  troubles  Jos- 
celyn left  the  army.  As  soon  as  the  surgeons  would  allow 
him  to  be  moved  he  was  borne  by  six  of  his  men  down  to 
the  river,  and  after  a  regretful  parting  with  Sir  William 
Waller,  to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached,  set  off  for  Lon- 
don under  the  charge  of  the  faithful  Morrison.  They  were 
often  reminded  of  their  journey  by  boat  to  Gloucester,  and 
Morrison  heartily  wished  that  the  whole  of  their  return  to 
Katterham  could  have  been  managed  by  water.  This  was, 
of  course,  impossible,  and  after  spending  a  night  at  St. 
Bartholomew's  Hospital,  that  he  might  have  the  benefit  of 
the  London  surgeons'  advice  and  skilful  dressing,  they  were 
forced  to  travel  the  last  eighteen  miles  of  the  way  by  coach, 
a  mode  which  tried  Joscelyn  infinitely  more  than  the  boat 
had  done. 

A  letter  bearing  the  news  of  his  trouble  to  Clemency,  and 
warning  her  of  his  speedy  arrival,  had  been  despatched 
some  days  before  from  Newbury,  and  as  they  approached 
the  familiar  little  village  Joscelyn  roused  himself  from  the 


440 

semi-stupor  into  which  he  had  sunk,  and  begged  Morrison 
to  raise  him  a  little  that  he  might  the  Better  see  from  the 
window. 

"The  place  hath  a  strangely  deserted  look  !"  he  said,  sur- 
prised at  the  almost  sabbatical  calm  that  reigned,  and  at  the 
entire  absence  of  playing  children  or  busy  men  or  women 
glancing  from  open  doors. 

"  A  fast  day,  maybe,  sir,"  said  Morrison,  glancing  at  the 
pretty  thatched  cottage  which  had  lately  been  built  for  his 
parents  by  Sir  Robert  Neal.  "  Aye,  that  must  be  it,  for  yon- 
der I  see  folks  trooping  towards  the  church.  The  second 
sermon  will  doubtless  be  beginning." 

With  flushed  face  and  eyes  bright  with  fever,  Joscelyn 
gazed  anxiously  forth  as  they  drove  past  the  park  and  drew 
near  to  the  gate-house. 

"  Higher,"  he  begged ,  "  lift  me  higher.  I  can't  see. 
Great  God  !  what  means  this  ?" 

Morrison's  jaw  fell ;  in  speechless  horror  he  saw  ap- 
proaching them  through  the  open  gates  of  the  Court-house 
a  funeral  train. 

The  coachman  reined  back  his  steeds  to  let  it  pass  on 
towards  the  neighboring  church,  and  Joscelyn  began  to 
struggle  desperately  to  fling  open  the  door  with  his  left 
hand. 

"  Let  me  go  !"  he  cried,  wildly,  as  the  servant  tried  to 
calm  him.  "  She  is  dead,  and  I  will  follow  her." 

"Sir,"  entreated  Morrison,  "you  put  your  own  life  in 
peril.  For  God's  sake  be  quiet !" 

But  Joscelyn's  frantic  endeavors  to  open  the  door  had 
attracted  the  notice  of  one  of  the  villagers,  who  came  to 
his  aid. 

"Alack,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "you  come  back  on  a  woful 
day.  He  was  ever  good  to  the  poor  and  needy ;  we  shall 
never  see  the  like  of  Sir  Robert  again." 


441 

Joscelyn  sank  back,  his  feverish  strength  wholly  exhaust- 
ed. "  How  ?"  he  faltered.  "  When  ?" 

"  A  was  found  dead  in  bed  one  morning  nigh  upon  a  sen- 
night since,  sir,"  said  the  villager.  "  Never  had  a  day's  ill- 
ness, but  folks  say  a  was  just  wore  out." 

"  Bid  the  coachman  drive  to  the  Court-house,  neighbor," 
said  Morrison,  alarmed  at  the  faintness  which  threatened 
to  overcome  his  master. 

Meanwhile  Clemency  sat  desolate  and  forlorn  in  her  own 
room,  her  heavy  mourning  robes  making  the  pallor  of  her 
face  all  the  more  noticeable.  It  was  not  the  custom  for 
women  to  attend  funerals,  nor  would  she  join  the  others 
who  gazed  forth  from  the  window  overlooking  the  church- 
yard. Her  grandfather's  sudden  death  had  left  her  crushed 
and  bewildered.  The  old  man  had  for  so  many  years  been 
her  counsellor  in  everything,  he  had  had  so  much  to  do  in 
the  formation  of  her  character,  and  had  been,  spite. of  the 
gulf  of  years  between  them,  so  real  a  friend  to  her,  that  his 
loss  seemed  to  shake  the  very  foundations  of  her  life.  It 
was  to  him  that  she  would  have  turned  in  her  great  anxiety 
about  her  husband,  and  though  Mrs.  Ursula  gave  her  the 
kindest  sympathy,  yet  there  were  many  things  which  she 
could  not  mention  to  her,  owing  to  the  difference  in  their 
views.  It  was  now  ten  days  since  she  had  received  any 
tidings  of  Joscelyn,  for  the  worst  news  had  miscarried  ;  she 
merely  knew  that  his  wound  was  progressing  satisfactorily, 
and  that  the  troops  were  suffering  a  good  deal  from  the 
severe  weather.  Sitting  there  alone  on  that  dreary  winter's 
day,  her  heart  felt  ready  to  break,  so  terribly  did  she  crave 
for  Joscelyn's  presence,  while  a  lurking  hope  that  he  might 
possibly  have  received  the  news  of  Sir  Robert's  death  in 
time  to  get  leave  to  return  for  the  funeral  died  away  in  dis- 
appointment. 

Presently  there  came  a  tap  at  her  door,  and  Mrs.  Ursula 


entered.  "  My  dear,"  she  said,  gently,  "  it  seems  that  a 
letter  which  should  have  reached  you  with  news  of  your 
husband  hath  been  lost  on  the  way.  I  have  tidings  for  you 
now ;  they  are  neither  wholly  bad  nor  altogether  good." 

"  He  is  ill  ?"  cried  Clemency.  "  Oh,  Cousin  Ursula,  tell 
me  the  whole  truth  ;  let  me  go  to  him  quickly !" 

"  Yes,  you  shall  come,"  said  Mrs.  Ursula ;  "  but,  my  dear, 
he  is  very  ill ;  he  hath  lost  his  right  arm.  They  have  brought 
him  home." 

"  Home  !"  cried  Clemency,  springing  to  her  feet  with  a 
look  of  rapturous  relief.  "  Oh,  thank  God,  he  hath  come  !" 

In  a  moment  she  was  her  strongest  self,  giving  rapid 
orders  to  the  servants,  thinking  of  everything  that  could 
possibly  be  used  in  the  sick-room,  then  hastening  to  the 
library,  controlling  her  agitation,  lest  it  should  harm  Josce- 
lyn  and  unfit  her  for  tending  him. 

They  had  laid  him  down  on  the  carved  settle  where  she  re- 
membered so  often  to  have  seen  him  long  ago,  when  in  the 
first  days  of  their  acquaintance  he  had  studied  the  great 
question  of  the  time.  A  vivid  recollection  flashed  back 
into  her  mind  of  his  bright,  humorous  face  and  air  of  glow- 
ing health  and  vigor  on  the  first  night  of  Mr.  Hampden's 
visit ;  how  his  hearty  boyish  laugh  had  echoed  through  the 
room  when  they  had  heard  the  story  of  the  Buckingham- 
shire bridegroom  who  repented  at  the  last  moment !  Now 
he  lay  there  maimed,  wan,  and  haggard,  moaning  a  little  as 
Morrison  shifted  his  position  and  made  way  for  her. 

But  her  presence  quickly  restored  him,  and  as  he  caught 
sight  of  her  pale,  anxious  face,  he  forgot  for  the  time  his 
bodily  misery,  and  remembered  only  the  exquisite  relief  of 
finding  that  she  was  still  spared  to  him. 

"  My  beloved,"  he  said,  with  the  look  and  tone  for  which 
in  her  sorrow  she  had  been  craving,  "  we  meet,  as  usual,  in 
the  very  shadow  of  death." 


443 

"  I  can  bear  all,  now  you  are  here,"  she  said,  struggling 
to  keep  back  her  tears.  "I  would  that  my  grandfather 
could  have  known ;  he  had  been  full  of  anxiety  for  you." 

"  I  have  come  back  to  you  a  miserable  wreck,"  said  Jos- 
celyn,  a  spasm  of  pain  passing  over  his  face. 

But  in  the  delight  of  having  him  home,  and  in  the  glad 
perception  that  their  separation  was  at  an  end,  Clemency 
had  not  a  thought  to  spare  on  his  enforced  retirement  from 
the  army. 

True,  her  anxiety  was  not  yet  over,  for  Joscelyn  remained 
grievously  ill  for  many  weeks.  But  by  Christmas  Eve  the 
surgeon  who  rode  over  daily  from  Croydon  pronounced 
him  to  be  out  of  danger,  and  there  followed  for  them  both 
happy  days  of  gradual  recovery,  when,  in  the  thankfulness 
of  a  life  wonderfully  restored,  they  lived  in  a  sort  of  heaven 
of  content,  desiring  nothing  beyond  the  four  walls  of  their 
room,  forgetting  the  outer  world  and  the  troubles  which 
still  distracted  the  land.  It  was  just  that  ideally  happy 
part  of  an  illness  when  the  supreme  duty  is  to  rest  and  be 
thankful,  when  the  brain  lies  fallow,  and  the  process  of 
building  up  an  exhausted  strength  goes  quietly  forward. 

Clemency,  radiant  with  the  consciousness  that  she  could 
exactly  supply  all  his  needs,  that  her  presence  wholly  suf- 
ficed him,  and  that  the  doctor  did  not  flatter  her  when  he 
told  her  she  had  saved  her  husband's  life,  lived  on  in  a  sort 
of  dream  of  happiness,  not  realizing  that  this  sort  of  exist- 
ence could  ever  cease  to  suffice  them,  nor  understanding 
that  they  must  either  climb  to  something  higher  or  gradu- 
ally sink. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

For  Love  is  fellow  service,  I  believe  ! 

— CLOUGH. 

IN  the  gray  dawn  of  a  December  day  Lady  Heyworth  might 
have  been  seen  at  her  dressing-table,  impatiently  watching 
in  the  looking-glass  the  slow  process  of  hair-curling  which 
was  being  performed  by  Therese,  her  French  maid ;  in  the 
background  old  Kezia,  the  nurse-keeper,  was  struggling  to 
close  the  lid  of  a  well-filled  travelling-trunk,  aided  by  Ros- 
amond, who,  in  an  undertone,  offered  laughingly  to  dance 
on  the  top  of  it ;  otherwise  she  was  convinced  the  fastening 
could  never  be  brought  into  position. 

"  Come  hither,  Rosamond,"  said  her  mother,  impatiently, 
"  you  do  but  trifle  and  hinder  us  all ;  had  you  been  more  of 
a  credit  to  me  I  would  have  taken  you  with  me  to  Oxford, 
and  we  might  have  been  able  to  arrange  a  marriage  for  you. 
But  who  would  wed  a  foolish  child  like  you?  There  is 
Mistress  Carew,  only  fifteen  years  old,  as  you  are,  and  was 
married  last  week  to  Sir  Charles  Praed ;  and  Bess  Coven- 
try, at  sixteen,  married  to  old  Mr.  Marchant,  with  a  great 
fortune  and  a  fine  house  in  London." 

Rosamond's  head  drooped,  as  it  had  acquired  a  habit  of 
doing  when  she  was  scolded  ;  nevertheless  she  was  far  from 
submissive  in  her  heart,  and  was  inwardly  congratulating 
herself  that  no  tiresome  Sir  Charles  Praed,  or  objectionable 
old  Croesus,  had  asked  for  her  hand. 

"  Shall  you  return  soon,  ma'am  ?"  she  asked,  timidly. 

"That  wholly  depends  on  the  course  of  the  war,"  said  Lady 


445 

Heyworth.  "  Nothing  will  induce  me  to  remain  buried  here 
in  the  country  any  longer  without  your  father.  I  shall  stay 
with  Isabella  at  Oxford,  or  wherever  she  chooseth  to  go." 

Rosamond  looked  somewhat  blank,  not  altogether  liking 
the  prospect  of  being  left  for  an  indefinite  time. 

"  Don't  be  down-hearted,  child,"  said  her  mother,  more 
kindly.  "  Doubtless  erelong  the  King  will  make  some  sort  of 
arrangement  with  these  villainous  rebels,  even  if  he  doth  not 
succeed  in  crushing  them,  as  I  hope  in  God  he  may.  More- 
over, you  will  not  be  left  alone;  Therese  will  take  good  care 
of  you,  and  teach  you  dancing  and  the  lute,  and  give  you 
embroidery  lessons ;  and  for  your  graver  studies,  the  chap- 
lain will  be  here  to  attend  to  them,  and  he  will  report  to  me 
on  your  progress.  I  leave  you  in  good  hands." 

"  And  if  letters  should  come  from  my  father  or  Dick," 
questioned  the  child,  "  may  we  read  them  ?" 

"Nay,"  said  Lady  Heyworth;  "you  will  without  delay  de- 
spatch the  messenger  to  me  at  Oxford." 

"  Pray  take  me  with  you,  ma'am,"  said  poor  Rosamond, 
much  daunted  at  the  prospect  before  her. 

"  I  cannot,  my  dear,  even  had  I  the  mind  to  do  it,"  said 
Lady  Heyworth.  "  Your  clothes  are  not  presentable,  for  one 
thing,  and  then,  as  you  well  know,  Sir  Toby  and  Isabella 
do  not  like  children,  and  you  are  still  sadly  childish.  My 
cloth  mantle,  Therese,  and  the  sable  muff.  There  is  the  coach 
at  the  door;  we  must  not  keep  the  horses  waiting  in  the  cold. 
Come,  kiss  me,  child,  and  have  a  care  of  yourself  till  I  re- 
turn. If  she  ails  anything,  Therese,  send  to  Alton  for  the 
doctor." 

Rosamond  followed  her  mother  down-stairs,  and  saw  her 
step  into  the  coach,  attended  by  old  Kezia ;  and  then  the  lit- 
tle bustle  of  departure  over,  she  turned  back  into  the  lonely 
house  where  so  many  of  the  rooms  were  closed,  and,  stealing 
into  the  dining-room,  the  only  place  where  a  fire  had  been 


446 

lighted,  she  crouched  down  by  the  hearth  and  threw  her  arms 
about  Cymro's  neck. 

"  I  wonder,  Cymro,  which  is  the  worst — to  be  married  to 
some  stupid  man,  or  to  be  left  alone  here  ?" 

The  dog  looked  into  her  eyes  and  blinked  silently,  as 
though  the  problem  were  beyond  him. 

"  Some  men  beat  their  wives,  you  know,  Cymro,  and  I  have 
had  too  many  beatings  already,  and  will  endure  no  more. 
Then  many  of  them  are  ill-tempered,  and  will  have  everything 
done  precisely  to  their  liking,  nor  ever  think  at  all  what  their 
wives  may  chance  to  like.  And  almost  all  of  them  drink  too 
much.  'Tis,  after  all,  better  to  be  left  here  in  the  country. 
But  I  should  like  to  go  to  Oxford  and  see  the  King,  and  find 
out  whether  he  be  as  noble  as  Dick  says,  or  as  faithless  as 
Joscelyn  deems  him.  My  dress,  they  say,  is  too  shabby! 
What  do  you  think,  Cymro  ?" 

The  dog  sniffed  at  it  dubiously. 

"  And  I  am  sadly  childish  !     How  about  that,  Cymro  ?" 

The  dog  began  to  lick  her  face,  lovingly,  which  led  to  a 
grand  romp,  and  Rosamond  was  in  full  career  round  the 
room,  playing  at  "  catch-as-catch-can,"  when  the  door  opened 
and  the  grave  old  chaplain  looked  in,  bidding  her  be  ready 
for  matins  in  the  oratory  in  five  minutes'  time.  Rosamond 
sighed ;  it  was  hard  to  have  been  caught  in  the  midst  of 
such  an  untimely  frolic.  A  maiden  of  fifteen  who  could  romp 
with  a  collie  at  eight  in  the  morning  was  certainly  unfit  for 
the  duties  of  a  matron.  She  stood  for  a  minute  in  front  of 
the  gilded  mirror  which  hung  between  the  two  windows,  look- 
ing ruefully  at  the  picture  it  disclosed  of  a  very  untidy  little 
maid  with  yellow  curls  much  disordered,  with  arms  and  hands 
nearly  as  ruddy  as  her  cheeks,  with  a  crumpled  white  necker- 
chief, and  an  outgrown  blue  stuff  gown,  faded  in  one  place 
and  darned  in  another,  and,  worst  of  all,  not  touching  the 
ground,  but  disclosing  in  a  most  unseemly  and  unfashion- 


447 

able  way  two  clumsily  shod  little  feet  and  a  pair  of  pretty 
ankles. 

"  Well,  Cyinro,  there  is  one  comfort,"  she  said :  "  no  fine 
gentleman  ever  could  think  of  asking  me  in  marriage  till  I 
have  a  new  gown ;  and  to  have  a  new  gown  before  the  rents 
are  paid  is  impossible,  and  the  rents  will  not  be  paid  till  the 
war  is  ended,  and  when  the  war  is  ended,  why,  we  shall  see 
Joscelyn  again,  and  nothing  will  matter." 

They  prayed  that  morning  in  the  oratory  for  the  arch- 
bishop's deliverance  from  his  persecutors  ;  and  Rosamond, 
with  a  touch  of  the  same  sanguine  nature  which  belonged 
to  Joscelyn,  could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  that  the  old 
man  would  indeed  be  brought  to  the  scaffold. 

But  a  week  later — on  the  evening  of  the  4th  of  January, 
when  she  was  having  her  lesson  on  the  lute  from  the  French 
maid— the  chaplain  entered  the  room  with  a  look  of  such  dire 
trouble  on  his  aged  face  that  Rosamond  at  once  knew  some 
great  disaster  must  have  happened. 

"  My  father,"  she  cried,  "  and  Dick  ?  You  have  had  bad 
news  of  them  ?" 

"  Nay,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  man;  "  'tis  of  the  archbishop 
I  have  bad  tidings.  The  lords  have  given  their  consent  to 
the  Ordinance  of  Attainder.  A  messenger  hath  but  now 
arrived  with  an  urgent  summons  for  me  to  return  to  London; 
we  trust  that  even  yet  an  effort  may  be  made  to  spare 
him.  Say,  can  I  trust  you  to  pursue  your  studies  alone  for 
a  time  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,"  said  Rosamond ;  "  indeed  I  will  mind  my 
books." 

"  And  you,  Therese,"  he  said,  "  have  a  care  of  your  young 
lady,  and  see  that  no  harm  befalls  her.  I  trust  to  return 
erelong,  and  were  it  not  on  a  matter  of  life  and  death 
would  not  leave  the  manor  now. 

Therese  promised  faithfully  that  nothing  should  part  her 


448 

from  her  young  mistress ;  and  the  chaplain,  promising  to 
see  Barnaby,  and  to  leave  a  message  for  the  steward  as  to 
money  matters  and  other  arrangements,  hurried  away,  being 
anxious  to  travel,  at  any  rate,  as  far  as  Guildford  that  night. 

So  Rosamond  was  left  at  Shortell  Manor  with  Therese 
and  the  cook  and  the  old  butler  to  protect  her,  with  Cymro 
for  her  sole  playfellow,  and  Barnaby,  the  gate-keeper,  for  her 
best  friend.  The  house  felt  strangely  desolate — within,  it 
was  cold  and  silent ;  without,  it  looked  even  more  dreary,  so 
many  of  the  windows  being  closely  shuttered.  Rosamond 
resolved  to  keep  her  promise  to  the  chaplain,  and  to  work 
well  at  her  studies.  On  the  Epiphany,  however,  she  felt 
justified  in  treating  herself  to  a  holiday,  and  spent  most  of 
the  morning  in  writing  a  long  letter  to  Joscelyn,  telling  him 
of  her  loneliness,  and  begging  him  to  let  her  know  how  his 
recovery  advanced.  Temperance  Turner  had  brought  her 
a  most  welcome  letter  from  Clemency  at  Christmas,  and 
very  eagerly  she  wished  that  on  this  January  day  she  could 
catch  sight  of  the  hunchback  crossing  the  park  with  an- 
other missive,  and  ready  to  carry  her  greetings  back  again. 

The  afternoon  had  nearly  passed  and  the  sun  was  sink- 
ing in  the  west  when  the  child,  having  spent  three  hours 
curled  up  in  the  dining-room  window-seat  reading  Twelfth 
Night,  closed  her  book  with  a  long  yawn,  and  stood  up  to 
stretch  her  cramped  limbs  and  to  warm  her  cold  hands  on 
Cymro's  glossy  coat.  She  wondered  how  the  effort  to  save 
the  archbishop's  life  would  prosper;  she  wondered  what 
Joscelyn  and  Clemency  were  doing  away  at  the  Court- 
house she  so  greatly  longed  to  see;  and  though  she  sang 
softly  to  herself — 

"Oh,  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming? 
Oh,  stay  and  hear  !  your  true  love's  coming " 

— her  thoughts  were  not  at  all  in  harmony  with  the  cheerful 


449 

words  of  the  clown's  song,  and  her  voice  had  a  sorrowful 
cadence  in  it.  All  at  once  she  clutched  closer  hold  of 
Cymro,  and  the  dog  began  to  bark  in  the  most  excited  way,  for 
they  had  both  caught  sight  of  a  troop  of  horsemen  approach- 
ing the  manor ;  not,  alas  !  her  father's  troop — she  saw  that 
at  a  glance.  The  red  ribbons  and  feathers,  however,  proved 
them  to  be  Royalists  ;  and  she  well  knew  that  the  visit  was 
more  to  be  dreaded  than  a  visit  from  the  Parliamentary 
troops,  who  defaced  images,  but  respected  woman  and 
children.  In  the  early  days  of  the  war  she  remembered 
that  a  troop  had  been  quartered  upon  them,  and  though 
she  herself  had  been  rigorously  kept  in  the  nursery  by  old 
Kezia,  she  had  nevertheless  heard  a  good  deal  of  the 
trouble  that  the  soldiers  had  made  in  the  household,  and 
of  the  harm  they  had  wrought  in  the  village. 

Her  heart  died  within  her  as  she  heard  the  altercation 
going  on  at  the  door  between  the  butler  and  the  officers ; 
she  longed  to  effect  her  escape,  and  was  about  to  run  across 
the  hall  and  gain  the  stairs  when,  opening  the  dining-room 
door,  she  found  herself  confronted  by  a  tall,  powerful-look- 
ing man,  who  seemed  startled  and  amused  as  he  caught 
sight  of  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  knave  ?"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  trembling  butler.  "  You  tell  me  the  house  is  empty  and 
the  family  away,  and  who  in  the  devil's  name  is  this  pretty 
maid  ?" 

"  Sir,"  said  Rosamond,  griping  fast  hold  of  Cymro's  col- 
lar for  protection,  yet  speaking  with  a  touch  of  unconscious 
dignity,  "my  father  and  mother  are  away  from  home.  Pray, 
sir,  seek  quarters  elsewhere,  for  indeed  the  house  is  well- 
nigh  empty,  and  we  are  short  of  provisions  ourselves  and 
cannot  feed  your  soldiers." 

"Never  fear,  my  dear,"  said  the  officer,  kissing  her, 
"  they  will  ferret  out  food  for  themselves  without  servants 
29 


450 

to  help  them.  And  such  a  sweet  face  as  yours  cannot  have 
a  cold  heart  behind  it.  Come,  order  us  a  good  supper  and 
we  will  drink  your  health,  and  you  shall  bear  us  company." 

He  turned  away  with  a  laugh,  making  some  jesting  re- 
mark to  one  of  his  companions,  and  leaving  Rosamond  to 
wonder  why  she  should  feel  such  deadly  terror  of  a  hand- 
some middle-aged  man  who  had  spoken  very  kindly  to  her, 
and  why  she  was  seized  with  an  unaccountable  desire  to  go 
straight  to  her  room  and  wash  the  cheek  he  had  kissed.  It 
was  the  most  ordinary  greeting  of  the  time  ;  why  should  it 
seem  to  her  like  an  insult  ?  She  was  standing  by  the  hearth, 
her  hand  still  upon  Cymro,  when  into  the  fast  darkening 
room  there  entered  another  officer. 

"  Thank  God  I  find  you  alone  !"  said  a  voice  she  seemed 
to  recognize,  and  as  the  new-comer  approached  her  she 
sprang  to  meet  him  with  a  stifled  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  Mr.  Denham !"  she  cried,  "  oh,  how  glad — how  glad  I 
am  you  have  come !  You  will  tell  me  what  to  do,  as  Josce- 
lyn  would  have  done." 

"Yes,  God  helping  me,  I  will,"  said  Arthur  Denham. 
"But  you  must  not  be  seen  here  talking  with  me,  though 
elsewhere  I  must  see  you  and  speak  with  you.  That  was 
my  Lord  Goring  who  spoke  with  you  before,  and  you  must 
shun  him  as  you  would  shun  the  devil  himself.  Don't 
linger  now,  but  go  while  he  is  out  of  the  way.  Where  will 
you  be  most  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  house  ?" 

"  There  is  the  old  nursery,"  said  Rosamond ;  "  'tis  well- 
nigh  the  only  room  through  which  there  is  not  a  passage. 
'Tis  in  the  north  wing ;  first  there  is  the  boy's  room,  then 
mine,  then  the  nursery." 

"  Well,  shut  yourself  in  there,  and  keep  your  maid  with 
you,"  said  Arthur  ;  "  and  as  soon  as  may  be  I  will  come  and 
see  what  arrangements  had  best  be  made." 

The  hall  and  staircase  were,  as  he  said,  quite  clear  at  that 


451 

moment,  and  Rosamond  flew  up  to  the  nursery,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  Cymro,  while  Arthur  Denham,  with  a  troubled 
face,  walked  restlessly  about,  chafing  at  the  thought  that 
this  lovely,  innocent  girl  should  be  left  in  a  desolate  house  at 
the  mercy  of  the  most  unblushingly  vicious  man  of  the  day. 

All  through  the  noisy  supper  which  followed  he  was  try- 
ing to  devise  the  best  means  of  protecting  her,  and  his  con- 
sternation was  great  when  Lord  Goring,  suddenly  bethink- 
ing himself  of  the  pretty  face  that  had  taken  his  fancy,  sent 
a  message  to  remind  Mistress  Heyworth  of  her  promise  to 
sup  with  them. 

Fortunately,  Rosamond,  though  innocent  and  unsuspi- 
cious, had  taken  his  words  about  the  devil  quite  literally. 
She  had  no  intention  whatever  of  supping  with  such  a 
dangerous  personage,  and  Arthur  heard  with  relief  the  old 
butler's  quavering  voice  announcing  : 

"  Mistress  Rosamond  hath  already  supped,  my  lord,  and 
will  not  come  down  to-night.  She  bids  me  wish  you  a 
prosperous  start  to-morrow  morn." 

Goring  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"  Ton  my  life,  'tis  a  discreet  little  maiden.  And  now 
methinks  I  have  a  mind  for  a  second  day  in  this  Manor 
House.  That  canting  old  Sir  Thomas  would  as  lief  see  his 
pretty  daughter  in  her  coffin  as  in  my  care.  A  loyal  old 
man,  you  say  ?  So  are  many  other  fools;  but  I  have  an  old 
score  against  him,  and  curse  me  if  I  don't  pay  it  off." 

Later  on,  when  all  the  rest  were  in  various  stages  of 
drunkenness,  Denham,  sickened  by  all  that  he  had  heard, 
and  at  his  wits'  end  to  know  how  to  act  for  the  best,  made 
his  way  from  the  room,  and,  seeking  out  the  old  butler,  had 
a  long  talk  with  him,  and  was  finally  taken  up  to  the 
nursery,  where  Therese  with  a  scared  face  was  relating  to 
her  little  mistress  tales  of  the  soldiers'  misdeeds.  The 
Frenchwoman  had  seen  enough  of  the  world  to  know  at  a 


452 

glance  that  Denham  was  to  be  trusted,  and  she  followed 
the  butler  into  the  adjoining  room  to  discuss  what  was  to  be 
done  to  guard  the  house  from  the  desperate  havoc  which 
the  soldiers  were  making  in  it. 

Denham  seized  the  opportunity  to  speak  to  the  child 
plainly. 

"  Mistress  Rosamond,"  he  said,  "  I  count  it  a  very  happy 
thing  that,  being  sent  on  secret  business  by  my  Lord  Hop- 
ton,  I  chanced  to  fall  in  this  day  with  my  Lord  Goring's 
troop.  They  have  been  ravaging  Hampshire  this  last  few 
days,  and  I  like  their  ways  ill  enough,  as  you  may  guess ; 
but  when  I  found  that  'twas  a  settled  thing  they  should 
seek  quarters  here  before  going  on  to  attack  Farnham,  I 
thought  myself  most  happy  to  be  at  hand,  welcoming  the 
chance  of  serving  you  and  Lady  Heyworth.  I  little  thought 
to  find  you  alone  and  unprotected." 

"  My  mother  hath  gone  to  Isabella,  who  lies  sick  at  Ox- 
ford," said  Rosamond,  "and  she  left  me  in  charge  of  the 
chaplain.  But  he,  too,  hath  been  summoned  away  ;  he  is  a 
friend  of  the  archbishop's,  and  would  fain  save  him.  But 
all  will  be  well,  now  you  are  here.  'Tis  just  as  though  one 
of  the  boys  had  come  to  take  care  of  me." 

"  In  the  eyes  of  the  world  'tis  not  quite  the  same,"  said 
Denham.  "Only  you  yourself  can  wholly  fit  me  to  pro- 
tect you  in  the  way  I  desire.  Your  father  and  Dick  know 
me  well ;  I  believe  they  would  trust  you  to  me ;  and  once, 
long  ago,  at  Farnham,  when  I  vowed  that  if  I  could  not 
wed  you  I  would  wed  none  other,  Joscelyn  said  he  would 
very  gladly  see  such  a  union.  Do  you  remember  this  token  ? 
Do  you  know  what  such  things  mean  ?" 

He  showed  her  a  little  thin  bracelet  of  golden  hair  upon 
his  left  wrist. 

"  I  suppose  'tis  made  from  a  curl  of  the  maiden  you 
love,"  said  Rosamond,  looking  puzzled. 


453 

"Aye,  to  be  sure,"  said  Denham,  smiling.  "The  curl 
that  she  gave  me  long  ago  in  Farnham  Park." 

The  color  rushed  into  Rosamond's  face ;  she  cast  down 
her  eyes,  only  to  become  vividly  conscious  of  her  short, 
shabby  gown.  She  looked  up  at  him  piteously.  "  I  do  not 
feel  good  enough,  or — or  old  enough,"  she  said,  falteringly ; 
then,  meeting  his  gaze,  an  answering  light  began  to  dawn  in 
her  blue  eyes.  Denham,  falling  on  his  knees,  caught  her 
hand  in  his  and  kissed  it  with  a  tender  reverence  which 
seemed  to  awake  within  her  possibilities  of  love  hitherto 
unknown. 

"  I  will  ask  you  to  give  me  the  right  to  protect  you,"  he 
said — "  to  promise  in  the  future  to  be  my  wife,  if  your  father 
consents,  and  if  your  mind  remains  unaltered." 

"I  will  be  your  wife,  sir,  with  my  father's  permission  ;  and 
my  mind  will  not  alter,"  said  Rosamond. 

As  she  said  the  words  there  came  into  her  face  a  look  so 
strangely  like  Joscelyn's  when  he  had  resisted  threats  and 
inducements  at  Farnham  Castle,  that  Arthur  realized  the 
force  of  character  latent  in  this  forlorn  little  girl.  Her 
shrinking  timidity  was  but  the  affect  of  the  stern  regime 
under  which  she  had  grown  up ;  at  heart  she  was  a  true 
Heyworth,  just  as  stanch  and  strong-willed  as  old  Sir 
Thomas  and  Joscelyn. 

Leaving  Cymro  to  guard  her  door,  he  went  down  once 
more  to  see  how  the  house  was  faring  in  the  hands  of  Go- 
ring's  troopers.  The  poor  old  butler  seemed  well-nigh  dis- 
tracted. It  was  in  vain  he  argued  that  his  master  was  no 
malignant,  but  as  loyal  a  baronet  as  could  be  found  in  Eng- 
land ;  the  soldiers  thought  only  of  their  own  ease,  and,  find- 
ing fuel  scarce,  seized  upon  anything  they  could  find  to  pile 
on  the  dogs  and  make  a  blaze.  The  night  was  intensely 
cold;  they  tore  down  the  window -curtains  and  slept  in 
them ;  they  broke  open  the  cellar  and  drank  all  the  best 


454 

wine,  and  when  Denham  sought  out  Lord  Goring,  hoping 
to  induce  him  to  interfere,  he  found  him  lying  drunk  on 
the  dining-room  floor,  while  on  the  hearth  there  blazed  the 
remnants  of  a  beautifully  carved  oak  stool.  With  a  sigh 
of  disgust  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  beside  the  fire, 
wondering  whether  Goring  would  remain  yet  another  day 
at  the  manor,  or  would  push  on  at  once  towards  Farnham, 
and  greatly  perplexed  as  to  the  best  course  for  Rosamond 
to  pursue.  Tired  with  a  hard  day's  riding,  he  presently  fell 
asleep,  to  awake  in  about  two  hours  with  a  sudden  start  and 
a  curious  consciousness  of  danger.  The  place  was  very 
cold,  the  fire  had  died  out,  but  from  the  window  there  came 
a  flickering  light.  Stumbling  across  the  room,  he  nearly 
tumbled  over  Goring's  prostrate  form,  kicking  him  so  severe- 
ly that  his  lordship  started  up  in  a  towering  rage,  swearing 
like  a  trooper. 

But  the  shock  seemed  partly  to  sober  him,  and  he  man- 
aged to  reel  across  to  the  window  and  to  grip  hold  of  Den- 
ham's  shoulder. 

"  What  are  you  about,  sir  ?"  he  mumbled,  stupidly. 
"What's  yonder  light  for?" 

"  'Tis  your  devilish  soldiers,  my  lord,  that  have  set  on  fire 
the  house  of  the  most  loyal  man  in  the  land !"  cried  Den- 
ham  ;  and  rushing  from  the  room  in  a  white-heat  of  anger, 
and  distracted  with  anxiety  for  Rosamond,  he  made  his  way 
up-stairs  to  the  north  wing.  The  passages  were  full  of  blind- 
ing smoke,  and  it  was  chiefly  by  the  sound  of  Cymro's 
whines  of  distress  that  he  guided  himself,  quickening  his 
steps  in  deadly  terror  as  he  heard  piercing  cries  proceeding 
from  the  child's  room.  Groping  about  in  an  agony  of  im- 
patience, he  at  length  found  the  handle  and  flung  back  the 
door.  A  fierce  light  beating  in  from  the  window  revealed 
with  dreadful  distinctness  the  figure  of  Therese  leaning 
through  the  open  casement  and  in  violent  hysterics.  Then 


455 

as  the  draught  caused  by  the  opening  of  the  door  dispersed 
the  blinding  smoke  for  a  minute,  Denham  suddenly  per- 
ceived a  little  white-robed  figure  lying  at  full  length  on  the 
floor.  Therese,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  ran  towards  him. 

"  The  smoke,  monsieur,"  she  gasped,  recovering  her  self- 
control,  "  it  have  choked  her.  In  vain  I  try  to  lift  her  to 
the  window." 

"  Come,"  cried  Denham,  "  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost !" 
And  snatching  up  a  blanket  from  the  bed,  he  wrapped  it 
round  the  child,  and,  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  bore  her  through 
the  smoke -filled  passages  down  the  staircase,  amid  the 
crowd  of  half-sober  troopers,  never  once  pausing  till  he 
had  gained  the  park.  Therese  had  followed  him  as  though 
all  the  demons  of  hell  were  in  pursuit,  her  little  skinny 
brown  hands,  which  were  better  fitted  for  lute-playing  and 
embroidery  than  for  carrying  heavy  weights,  clutching  fast 
hold  of  his  cloak. 

"  Ah,  monsieur  has  saved  us  both !"  she  cried,  with 
passionate  gratitude.  "  Regard,  then,  her  face,  monsieur ! 
See,  she  revives  with  the  cold  air." 

Rosamond's  eyes  slowly  opened ;  she  stared  up  at  the  bare 
branches  of  the  great  oak-tree  under  which  they  were  shel- 
tering, and  at  the  ruddy  sky  against  which  its  twigs  were 
sharply  outlined.  Then,  with  a  scared  look,  she  turned  tow- 
ards the  house,  and  saw  that  the  whole  of  the  north  wing 
was  in  flames. 

"  Oh,  what  will  they  say  to  me  ?"  she  cried,  piteously,  her 
mind  turning  in  the  midst  of  this  perilous  adventure  to  the 
dreaded  scolding  which  she  felt  to  be  in  store  for  her. 

"No  one  can  blame  you,  sweetheart,"  said  Denham. 
"  'Tis  they  that  are  in  fault  to  have  left  you  alone,  and  the 
fire  was  caused  by  these  cursed  troopers,  who  treat  friend 
and  foe  alike." 

"  Let  me  go  back  and  try  to  save  things !"  cried  Ros- 


456 

amond,  shivering  with  fright.  "  My  father  will  grieve  if  all 
is  destroyed." 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  let  you  go  among  those  devils  !"  cried  Ar- 
thur, holding  her  more  closely.  "  Trust  me,  your  father  would 
sooner  that  his  house  were  destroyed  a  thousand  times  over. 
And,  see,  rain  is  beginning  to  fall,  and  the  wind  is  from  the 
south;  perchance  'twill  only  be  the  north  wing  that  is  burned. 
Now,  tell  me  where  I  can  find  shelter  for  you." 

"There  is  Barnaby's  cottage,"  said  Rosamond;  "but  they 
said  'twas  full  of  soldiers." 

"They  must  turn  out,  then,"  said  Denham,  shortly;  "you 
will  take  your  death  of  cold  if  you  are  out  much  longer." 

Rosamond's  terror  was  by  degrees  allayed,  indeed;  not- 
withstanding her  grief  for  the  house,  she  was  still  such  a  child 
as  to  feel  a  strange  sort  of  interest  in  the  novelty  and  ex- 
citement of  this  adventure.  Moreover,  though  it  was  terrible 
to  see  lurid  flames  shooting  through  the  windows  of  familiar 
rooms,  there  was,  nevertheless,  a  curious  pleasure  in  being 
cared  for  with  such  tenderness ;  only  once  before  had  she 
experienced  anything  like  it,  and  that  was  when  they  had  all 
thought  her  dying.  To  be  the  most  absorbing  thought  in 
the  mind  of  any  one  while  in  the  possession  of  health  and 
strength  and  the  power  to  enjoy  was  bewildering  but  de- 
lightful ;  she  cared  neither  for  the  rain  nor  the  cold ;  a  feel- 
ing of  blissful,  drowsy  content  stole  over  her;  she  would  not 
have  murmured  if  for  an  indefinite  time  they  had  been  forced 
to  traverse  the  silent  park  with  the  flaming  house  behind 
them  and  the  grim  darkness  before,  with  Cymro  at  their 
heels,  and  with  Therese  in  the  strangest  dishabille  beside 
them.  Long  before  they  had  reached  Barnaby's  cottage, 
however,  her  love  had  advanced  a  stage.  She  noticed  that 
her  bearer  moved  a  little  less  quickly,  and  remembered  that 
he  was  a  man  of  Dick's  build — not  anything  like  so  vigorous 
and  athletic  as  Joscelyn. 


457 

"Let  me  walk,"  she  said  ;  " indeed  I  am  able." 

"  In  the  rain  and  cold  with  bare  feet  ?"  said  Denham.  "  Do 
you  think  I  should  let  you  do  that  ?" 

"  But  you  are  tired  and  out  of  breath,  and  it  is  far  to  the 
gate." 

"  Three  arguments  that  increase  the  satisfaction  of  carry- 
ing you,"  said  Denham,  with  a  smile. 

Almost  unconsciously  she  passed  her  hand  gently  over  his 
dark  hair,  with  much  the  same  sort  of  caress  that  she  might 
have  bestowed  on  Cymro  when  he  had  comforted  her  after  a 
scolding.  After  which,  Denham,  thrilled  through  and  through 
by  the  touch  of  the  little  cold  fingers,  drew  her  down  more 
closely  to  him,  and,  ignoring  the  presence  of  Therese,  kissed 
her  again  and  again,  while  Rosamond  began  better  to  under- 
stand the  song  from  Twelfth  Night  which  had  haunted  her 
mind  since  the  previous  afternoon.  When  at  length  she 
found  herself  safely  beside  the  hearth  in  Barnaby's  cottage, 
with  Robin's  wife  rubbing  her  cold  feet,  the  conviction 
that  she  and  Arthur  Denham  belonged  to  each  other  had  be- 
come part  of  her  very  being ;  she  scarcely  even  changed 
color  when  she  heard  him  boldly  telling  the  exact  state  of 
the  case  to  Barnaby,  and  announcing  that  she  was  his  be- 
trothed. 

"  Tis  right  glad  I  am  to  hear  it,  sir,"  said  dear  old  Bar- 
naby, with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "And  'tis  the  flower  of  the 
flock  you  have  got,  sir,  to  my  way  of  thinking.  She'll  devil- 
up  into  the  flower  of  the  flock." 

He  bustled  off  to  see  what  could  be  done  towards  help- 
ing to  save  the  property,  while  Rosamond  covered  her  face 
and  sank  back  upon  the  old  oak  settle,  shaking  with  laugh- 
ter at  Barnaby's  theories  as  to  her  development. 

"  But  you  must  still  love  me,  even  if  I  do  not,  as  Barnaby 
foretells,  devil-up  into  a  beauty,"  she  said,  her  blue  eyes 
looking  appealingly,  yet  with  a  smile,  straight  into  his. 


458 

"  My  dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  'tis  yourself  that  I  love,  and 
nothing  but  death  shall  part  us." 

After  that  assurance  Rosamond  let  Robin's  wife  lead  her 
away  to  a  quiet  little  attic,  where,  with  Therese  and  Cymro 
to  guard  her,  she  slept  like  a  baby  for  the  next  five  hours. 
Indeed,  the  maid  had  much  difficulty  in  rousing  her  at  dawn, 
and  it  was  only  the  repeated  sound  of  the  words  "  Katter- 
ham  "  and  the  "  Court-house  "  that  finally  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing her  start  up  from  her  pillow. 

"  What  news  of  my  brother  ?"  she  cried.     "  Is  he  worse?" 

"  No,  no,  ma'm'selle ;  but  Barnaby  and  Monsieur  Denham 
they  both  say  'tis  the  only  safe  place  for  you.  And  come, 
rise,  my  child,  quick,  then  !  The  horses  await  us." 

"  How  can  I  have  slept  while  the  house  was  burning  ?" 
said  Rosamond.  "  Why,  Therese,  that  is  my  mother's  pe- 
lisse and  hood  and  her  blue  tabby  dress." 

"Yes,  ma'm'selle,"  said  Therese,  "the  only  things  that 
your  fiance  could  lay  hands  upon,  and  too  great  for  you, 
but  they  will  serve  to  keep  you  warm." 

"  He  went  back  to  get  them  ?"  asked  Rosamond,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Yes,  ma'm'selle  ;  and  thanks  to  the  heavy  rain,  naught 
but  the  north  wing  hath  been  burned,  though  the  soldiers 
have  made  havoc  everywhere." 

Hurrying  down  the  steep  stairs  in  her  rather  cumbersome 
pelisse,  Rosamond  found  breakfast  awaiting  her  in  Barna- 
by's  kitchen,  and  the  old  gate-keeper  in  close  conversation 
with  some  one  in  the  dress  of  a  groom,  who  nevertheless 
wore  the  long  hair  which  was  the  distinctive  badge  of  a 
gentleman. 

"  The  disguise  is  not  good,"  said  Rosamond.  "  You 
must  let  us  arrange  your  hair  in  the  crown  of  the  hat,  sir, 
else  will  all  men  divine  that  you  are  no  true  groom.  Why 
is  it  needful  that  you  should  be  disguised  ?" 


459 

"I  am  travelling  without  a  pass  through  the  enemy's 
country,  and  must  no  longer  wait  for  my  Lord  Goring's 
troop  to  bear  me  company."  Then,  as  they  were  left  alone 
for  a  few  minutes,  he  lowered  his  voice  a  little.  "  I  will 
tell  you  the  whole  truth  :  I  am  bearing  despatches  from  my 
Lord  Hopton  to  the  King,  and  am  first  to  contrive,  if  possi- 
ble, to  see  certain  Royalists  in  London." 

"But  to  take  me  to  Katterham  will  make  your  journey 
yet  longer  and  more  hazardous,"  said  Rosamond,  her  eyes 
dilating;  for  since  Joscelyn's  adventure  with  the  despatches 
she  had  learned  to  dread,  above  all  things,  the  thought  of 
letter-carrying  for  those  she  loved. 

"  Perchance  a  trifle  longer,"  said  Denham  j  "  there  is  no 
help  for  that.  I  shall  not  rest  till  I  have  seen  you  in  your 
brother's  care.  The  Court-house  will  be  by  far  the  best 
shelter  for  you,  and  if  Sir  Thomas  is  angry  with  me  for 
taking  the  law  into  my  own  hands,  why  he  can  come  up 
from  Bristol  and  himself  place  you  elsewhere." 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  not  stir  one  step  from  Barna- 
by's  cottage  till  you  promise  me  one  thing." 

The  air  of  resolution  and  the  womanly  attire  added  a 
strange  new  dignity  to  the  little  girlish  face  that  looked  up 
at  him. 

"  What  is  your  will,  dear  heart,"  he  said,  kissing  her. 

"  I  want  to  carry  the  despatches,"  said  Rosamond,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  expectantly. 

Wholly  unprepared  for  such  a  request,  Arthur  expostu- 
lated, argued,  pointed  out  the  risk  of  the  plan ;  but  all  to 
no  purpose.  Rosamond  quietly  untied  her  hood,  and,  sit- 
ting down  to  the  table,  began  to  stir  her  hot  ale  with  a 
sprig  of  rosemary. 

"  I  shall  stay  with  Barnaby,  then,"  she  remarked,  care- 
lessly, "  and  you,  sir,  can  go  on  to  Farnham  with  my  Lord 
Goring." 


460 

Denham  was  silent — puzzled  and  provoked  by  her  unex- 
pected resolution.  "  You  forget,"  he  urged,  after  a  minute, 
"  that  I  must  be  guided  by  my  honor  and  conscience." 

"  No,"  sa4d  Rosamond,  with  a  curious  flash  of  light  in 
her  eyes,  "  'tis  you,  sir,  that  forget  what  is  consistent  with 
my  sense  of  honor ;  you  risk  everything  for  me,  and  refuse 
me  my  just  share  when  I,  too,  want  to  help." 

Arthur  hesitated  a  little,  loath  to  yield,  yet  touched  by  her 
words.  She  saw  her  advantage,  and,  springing  up,  clasped 
her  hands  over  his  arm  imploringly. 

"  You  know  well,"  she  said,  "  that  the  Parliamentary  sol- 
diers would  never  dream  of  molesting  a  girl.  Dick  has  told 
me  that  many  times  women  have  been  the  best  and  safest 
messengers.  See,  I  will  hide  them  here  within  my  pelisse — 
they  shall  be  your  love-pledge  to  me." 

He  was  conquered  at  last,  and  a  few  minutes  later  the 
two  were  riding  off  to  Katterham,  Therese  on  a  pillion  be- 
hind the  genuine  groom,  and  Rosamond  holding  fast  to  her 
disguised  lover.  In  the  dim  light  of  the  winter's  morning 
Barnaby  opened  the  gates  for  them  and  bade  them  god- 
speed; then,  with  a  sigh,  turned  back  towards  the  half-ruined 
manor,  hoping  that  Lord  Goring  would  find  his  quarters 
too  uncomfortable  for  a  further  stay,  and  congratulating 
himself  that  the  little  playfellow  who  had  followed  him 
about  so  faithfully  ever  since  she  could  run  alone  was  out 
of  harm's  way. 

"  I  shall  miss  her  full  sore,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  she 
will  be  married  and  changed  ere  I  see  her  again.  But  'tis 
the  road  we  all  have  to  travel,  and  with  a  good  mate  'tis  not 
ill  faring." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

Many  times  ...  I  must  come  with  my  ill-ravelled  work  to  Christ, 
to  encumber  him  (as  it  were)  to  right  it,  and  to  seek  again  the  true 
end  of  the  thread.  But  God  be  thanked  for  many  ill-ravelled  hesps 
which  Christ  hath  mended  since  first  he  entered  tutor  to  lost  man- 
kind.— SAMUEL  RUTHERFORD. 

ROSAMOND'S  loving  plan  succeeded  well,  and  carried 
them  safely  through  a  really  perilous  hour  when  they  were 
forced  to  rest  the  horses  at  Guildford.  The  men  had  to 
submit  to  searching  and  cross-examination,  but  no  one 
troubled  the  French  maid  and  her  weary-looking  little  mis- 
tress. At  last,  quite  late  in  the  evening,  they  rode  slowly 
up  the  long  hill  near  Willey  Farm,  dimly  discerning  the  old 
yew-trees  which  served  as  a  rough  indication  of  the  bridle- 
path leading  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  to  which  they  had  been 
directed.  Rosamond  was  so  weary  that  she  could  scarcely 
keep  her  seat  on  the  pillion ;  her  head  had  sunk  down 
onto  Denham's  shoulder,  and  her  voice  had  grown  sad  and 
plaintive. 

"  I  begin  to  fear  meeting  my  brother's  wife,"  she  said*. 
"  What  if,  after  all,  she  be  not  willing  to  have  me  ?" 

"  Nay,  no  fear  of  that,"  said  Denham  ;  "  I  learned  to  know 
her  well  while  I  was  a  prisoner  at  Gloucester,  and  she  is 
one  of  a  hundred.  She  will  be  the  best  possible  protector 
for  you." 

"Ah,  what  is  that?"  cried  Rosamond,  clutching  more 
closely  hold  of  him  as  a  lantern  suddenly  flashed  upon 
them,  and  a  stalwart  figure  strode  forward  at  an  angle  of 
the  road  where  the  old  Roman  Stane  Street  was  crossed  by 
a  path  known  as  the  Pilgrim's  Way. 


462 

"  Who  art  thou  for  ?"  said  a  deep  voice  ;  and  Rosamond, 
straining  her  eyes  to  see  the  speaker's  face,  could  dimly  dis- 
cern the  solemn,  stern  features  of  a  yeoman  who  was  evi- 
dently of  the  Puritan  persuasion. 

"  Who  art  thou  for  ?"  repeated  their  challenger. 

"  Sir,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  am  travelling  with  my  serv- 
ants to  the  Court-house.  My  father's  house  hath  been 
burned  by  my  Lord  Goring's  troopers,  and  I  seek  shelter 
with  my  brother,  Captain  Heyworth." 

"  May  the  Lord  protect  you,  mistress,"  said  the  old 
yeoman.  "  I  knew  not  whether  ye  were  friends  or  foes. 
If  'tis  the  Court  -  house  you  seek,  I  had  best  guide  you 
across  yonder  bit  of  common,  or  maybe  you'll  miss  the 
road  on  the  other  side." 

He  plodded  along  beside  them,  his  lantern  shedding  a 
fitful  light  on  the  track,  while  Rosamond  roused  herself  to 
talk  incessantly,  fearful  lest  Arthur  should  betray  himself 
to  be  anything  but  the  groom  he  represented. 

Farmer  Smith  insisted  on  seeing  them  to  the  very  door 
of  the  Court-house,  and  poor  Rosamond  felt  a  little  guilty 
when,  with  the  despatches  for  the  King  securely  hidden  in 
her  bosom,  the  Puritan  lifted  her  from  her  pillion,  and,  in- 
voking a  solemn  blessing  on  her,  bade  them  good-night. 
As  they  waited  in  the  darkness  for  the  great  front  door  to 
be  opened  to  them  she  handed  the  perilous  packet  to  her 
lover,  heartily  wishing  that  there  were  neither  kings  nor 
parliaments  to  disturb  their  peace,  yet  with  a  sense  of  relief 
that  for  the  present,  at  any  rate,  Arthur  was  in  perfect  safety. 
At  length  the  grille  was  opened,  and  a  servant  inquired 
what  they  wanted.  Rosamond,  quite  worn  out  with  her 
journey,  left  all  explanations  to  her  lover ;  her  courage  and 
spirit  had  deserted  her,  and  when  the  door  was  flung  back 
and  a  stream  of  light  from  within  revealed  a  tall  lady 
dressed  in  mourning  robes,  her  knees  trembled  beneath  her 


463 

as  she  courtesied,  and  it  needed  the  whole  of  her  self-control 
to  keep  from  bursting  into  tears. 

"  How  can  we  ever  thank  you  enough,  Mr.  Denham  ?" 
said  a  low,  sweet  voice.  "Welcome  to  the  Court-house, 
dear  Rosamond.  Why,  you  poor  little  maid,  you  are  well- 
nigh  frozen." 

As  for  Cymro,  he  did  not  wait  to  be  asked,  but  bounded 
straight  through  the  house  into  the  library. 

"  He  has  gone  to  Joscelyn,"  said  Rosamond,  apologeti- 
cally. "  I  hope,  madam,  you  do  not  mind  dogs  ?" 

"  In  truth  I  am  not  over-fond  of  them,"  said  Clemency, 
smiling ,  "  but  I  shall  like  your  dog,  little  sister,  never  fear. 
Now  come  in  to  the  fire,  and  see  if  you  do  not  think  Josce- 
lyn on  the  road  to  recovery." 

Throwing  her  arm  about  the  child,  she  guided  her  across 
the  hall  and  into  the  snug  room  beyond,  where,  in  Joscelyn's 
delightful  greeting,  Rosamond  forgot  all  her  cares,  and 
could  have  smiled  to  think  that  she  had  stood  in  awe  of 
Clemency  even  for  a  moment.  The  young  husband  and 
wife  took  her  right  into  the  centre  of  their  home,  and  Ros- 
amond had  never  in  her  whole  life  been  so  happy  as  she  was 
that  night ;  she  would  not  trouble  herself  over  the  uncer- 
tain future  or  over  the  ruined  manor,  but  just  basked  in 
the  present  sunshine,  which,  in  contrast  to  her  somewhat 
dreary  life,  was  dazzling  in  its  brightness. 

"If  one  did  not  ache  all  over,  'twould  be  just  like  heav- 
en !"  she  reflected,  in  dreamy  content. 

It  was,  alas  !  a  heaven  that  soon  came  to  an  end  ;  for  the 
very  next  day  Joscelyn  received  a  letter  from  Jervis,  who,  it 
seemed,  had  been  made  prisoner  while  on  a  foraging  expe- 
dition, and  having  been  carried  up  to  London,  wrote  an 
urgent  request  that  his  brother  would  endeavor  to  procure 
a  release  for  him,  or  get  together  the  money  for  his  ransom. 
The  letter  was  written  from  Newgate,  but  Jervis  was  to  be 


464 

removed  immediately  to  one  of  the  ships  in  the  Thames, 
used  on  account  of  the  overcrowded  state  of  the  London 
prisons. 

"  And  they  are  the  worst  of  all,"  said  Denham,  who,  lit- 
tle as  he  liked  Jervis  Heyworth,  could  not  but  feel  some 
pity  for  him. 

"  Then,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  I  will  ask  you  to  bear  me  com- 
pany at  sunrise  to-morrow.  I  shall  be  some  sort  of  protec- 
tion to  you  if  you  travel  in  the  dress  you  wore  from  Shor- 
tell,  and  you  and  Morrison  and  a  coach-and-six  will  contrive 
to  get  me  to  London  in  a  fashion  that  will  satisfy  even 
Clemency." 

"  You  will  let  me  come  with  you  ?"  she  pleaded. 

"  Nay,  dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  I  would  far  leifer  that  you 
stayed  with  Rosamond  and  Tom  and  the  children ;  'tis  scarce 
right  to  leave  them  alone.  I  will  not  be  away  more  than  a 
couple  of  nights,  and,  to  please  you  and  our  friend,  the 
surgeon  from  Croydon  will  visit  Dr.  Mayerne,  and  find  out 
from  him  what  can  be  done  with  this  old  wound  of  mine, 
which  doth  not  even  yet  forgive  the  Cornishman's  pike." 

So  in  the  faint  sunshine  of  the  cold  January  morning 
Rosamond  parted  from  her  lover,  and  Joscelyn,  not  without 
a  sense  of  keen  delight  at  being  once  more  astir,  stepped 
briskly  into  the  coach,  bearing  about  him  the  money  for  his 
brother's  ransom,  and  looking  forward  with  his  usual  san- 
guine cheerfulness  to  the  result  of  his  interview  with  the 
famous  doctor. 

"  Who  knows,"  he  said,  gayly,  "  if  I  may  not,  after  all, 
serve  the  country  once  more  as  something  better  than  a 
justice  of  the  peace  in  this  quiet  place  ?  There  is  a  talk 
of  recruiting  the  members  of  the  House  of  Commons  and 
filling  up  the  gaps  left  by  the  absentees.  Perchance  I 
might  serve  that  fashion,  though  unfitted  for  fighting." 

By  the  time  they  reached  London  they  found  it  was  too 


HE    RODE    DOWN    CASTLE    STREET. 


[Page  412. 


465 

late  to  set  about  delivering  Jervis  that  night.  Joscelyn, 
however,  called  upon  Sir  Robert  Pye,  and  procured  the 
necessary  orders  and  permission  to  have  him  removed  from 
his  floating  jail  at  noon  the  next  day.  Morrison,  mean- 
time, had  been  with  a  letter  to  Sir  Theodore  Mayerne,  one 
of  the  leading  physicians  of  the  day,  who  had  ranged  him- 
self on  the  side  of  the  Parliament.  He  brought  back  word 
that  the  doctor  would  see  his  master  at  seven  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  and  after  a  night's  rest  at  the  Blue  Boar,  in 
Holborn,  Joscelyn,  with  his  faithful  servant  in  attendance, 
made  his  way  to  the  great  man's  house.  He  was  ushered 
into  a  finely-proportioned  study,  the  walls  of  which  were  cov- 
ered with  pictures,  and  with  books  that  had  evidently  seen 
good  service.  Behind  a  large  table,  on  which  were  stacked 
in  neat  slides  a  number  of  works  of  reference,  there  sat  a 
very  stout,  benevolent-looking  man,  whose  keen  eyes  seemed 
to  read  at  a  glance  the  character  and  the  physique  of  his  vis- 
itor. Somehow  Joscelyn  grew  less  hopeful  as  his  examina- 
tion proceeded ;  his  eyes  rested  on  the  model  of  a  man  in 
wax  which  stood  on  the  table,  and  he  fell  to  thinking  of  all 
the  woes  that  flesh  is  heir  to  while  Dr.  Mayerne  was  plying 
him  with  questions  as  to  the  nature  of  his  wound  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Lansdown,  the  length  of  time  he  had  lain  untended 
on  the  hill-side,  details  of  his  journey  to  Gloucester,  details  of 
the  pain  which  had  first  become  troublesome  as  they  lay  in  the 
fields  on  the  frosty  winter  nights  during  the  march  to  Arundel. 
When  at  last  all  was  ended,  and  the  great  man  was  scrib- 
bling various  items  in  a  book,  Joscelyn  waited  in  painful 
suspense  for  the  verdict ;  the  picture  of  Hippocrates,  the 
physician,  which  hung  over  the  chimney-piece,  seemed  to 
stare  down  at  him  with  mournfully  prophetic  eyes  ;  the  min- 
utes dragged  by  as  slowly  as  though  he  had  been  confront- 
ing a  whole  army  in  that  dread  pause  of  waiting  for  hostil- 
ities to  begin  which  tries  the  courage  of  all. 
30 


466 

At  length  Sir  Theodore  looked  up  with  an  air  of  cheerful 
resolution,  of  determination  to  put  his  verdict  in  as  pleas- 
ant a  fashion  as  might  be,  yet  nevertheless  to  tell  the  whole 
truth. 

"  You  have  served  your  country  very  gallantly,  Captain 
Heyworth,"  he  said,  "  and  now  you  must  stand  aside,  and 
leave  the  work  to  other  men." 

"  I  know,  sir,  that  I  can  never  be  fit  for  active  service, 
but—" 

"  Aye,  I  know  what  you  would  say,"  said  the  doctor ; 
"  you  would  serve  in  the  senate  if  not  in  the  field.  But, 
sir,  I  must  tell  you  plainly  that  'tis  impossible.  You  may, 
please  God,  live  to  a  good  old  age,  but  the  injury  you  got 
at  Lansdown,  and  the  cold  and  exposure  of  your  campaigns 
since  then,  have  set  up  internal  mischief  that  can  never  be 
repaired.  You  may,  I  hope,  live  to  be  as  old  as  Barzillai, 
but  'twill  be  more  or  less  as  an  invalid."  He  paused,  and 
began  to  write  down  certain  directions  and  remedies  which 
might  alleviate  pain,  though  powerless  to  cure. 

"  A  quiet  country  life  hath  its  own  pleasures,"  he  added, 
presently.  "  Remember  Cincinnatus.  With  care  I  am  well 
assured  that  your  life  may  long  be  spared.  Your  youth  is 
in  your  favor — twenty-three  years  of  age  last  Michaelmas, 
you  say  ?  That  is  a  great  advantage.  Youth,  sir,  in  a  fight 
with  disease,  is  the  greatest  possible  advantage." 

Joscelyn  did  not  reply;  there  rang  in  his  ears  the  familiar 
text,  "  Now  Barzillai  was  a  very  aged  man,  even  fourscore 
years."  The  picture  of  Hippocrates  seemed  to  fade  away, 
and  in  its  place  he  saw,  in  staring  white  figures  on  a  black 
ground,  8o 

23 
Remainder,  57 

A  strange  feeling  of  numbness  crept  over  him  as  he  bade 


467 

Sir  Theodore  Mayerne  farewell ;  he  found  himself  reflect- 
ing dreamily  on  the  difficulty  of  presenting  a  fee  with  any 
sort  of  grace  when  a  man  had  but  a  left  hand  to  do  it  with. 
Then  the  front  door  was  opened,  and  the  frosty  morning 
air  revived  him  a  little  and  sent  a  sharp  thrill  of  realization 
through  his  consciousness.  The  clock  in  a  neighboring 
church  struck  eight.  It  was  early  morning  still !  Hours 
and  hours  had  to  be  lived  through  before  he  could  give  the 
rein  to  his  misery  in  darkness  and  solitude — hours  during 
which  he  must  always  be  haunted  by  that  dread  vista  of 
fifty-seven  healthless  years. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

My  good  right  hand  forgets 
Its  cunning  now; 
To  march  the  weary  march 
I  know  not  how. 

I  am  not  eager,  bold, 
Nor  strong  —  all  that  is  past; 
I  am  ready  not  to  do, 
At  last,  at  last. 

My  half-day's  work  is  done, 
And  this  is  all  my  part  : 
I  give  my  patient  God 
A  patient  heart. 


JOSCELYN  had  not  walked  many  paces  from  Dr.  Mayerne's 
house  when  he  recollected  that  at  least  there  was  one  piece 
of  work  for  him  to  do. 

"  I  will  take  a  boat  at  the  Temple  stairs,"  he  said  to  his 
servant,  "  and  will  see  if  my  brother's  release  can  be  ef- 
fected." 

"The  air  will  be  cold,  sir,  on  the  river,"  urged  Morrison. 
"  Were  it  not  better  to  send  the  order  of  release  by  a  trusty 
messenger  ?" 

But  Joscelyn  was  determined  to  see  Jervis  himself,  and 
into  his  ever-sanguine  heart  there  crept  a  hope  that  now  at 
last  their  differences  might  be  made  up.  Hailing  one  of  the 
watermen,  he  stepped  into  a  boat  and  gave  orders  to  be 
rowed  with  all  speed  to  the  Neptune.  The  wintry  wind  blew 
coldly,  but  the  sun  was  shining  and  the  rime  -laden  trees  in 
the  gardens  leading  down  to  the  river  sparkled  in  its  beams; 


the  spire  of  old  St.  Paul's  stood  out  against  the  pale  blue 
sky,  and  the  gloomy  Tower  rising  from  the  river-side  took 
Joscelyn's  thoughts  away  to  the  memory  of  Sir  John  Eliot's 
sufferings.  He  remembered  how  Colonel  Hampden  had 
told  him  of  the  King's  persistent  injustice  and  cruelty 
towards  his  friend  ;  and  how,  when  at  length  his  health  suc- 
cumbed to  the  hardships  of  his  prison  life,  the  tyrant's  en- 
mity had  been  carried  on  even  after  death,  and  with  incred- 
ible meanness  his  son's  request  to  take  the  body  of  his 
father  to  Port  Eliot  for  burial  had  been  refused.  Some- 
where within  that  gloomy  pile  the  ashes  of  the  great  patriot 
yet  remained ;  and  Joscelyn  was  still  musing  on  the  part  he 
had  played  in  the  great  struggle  for  freedom,  when  he  be- 
came aware  of  an  unusual  concourse  of  people  flocking 
along  in  the  direction  of  the  Tower.  It  suddenly  flashed 
into  his  mind  that  this  was  the  very  day  appointed  for  the 
execution  of  Laud  on  Tower  Hill. 

"  See,  sir,"  exclaimed  Morrison,  "  the  folk  go  to  see  the 
archbishop  beheaded." 

"  Shall  I  not  row  ye  there  in  time  for  the  show,  sir  ?" 
suggested  the  waterman. 

Joscelyn  shook  his  head  with  a  gesture  of  distaste. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go,  sir,"  pleaded  Morrison.  "  Fain 
would  I  see  the  end  of  him  that  has  cropped  and  branded 
and  pilloried  and  ruined  many  hundreds  of  the  Lord's  peo- 
ple. Why,  sir,  you  yourself  owe  him  a  grudge ;  for  had  not 
the  Church  truckled  to  the  King  and  aided  and  abetted  his 
tyranny,  there  would  never  have  been  a  call  on  you  to  fight 
for  liberty,  and  you  would  not  have  been  left  a  shattered 
wreck  now." 

"  The  axe  is  too  good  for  un,"  growled  the  boatman. 
"  They  are  more  merciful  to  him  than  e'er  he  was  to  others. 
Have  ye  forgot,  sir,  how  he  pulled  off  his  cap  and  thanked 
God  for  the  sentence  on  Dr.  Leighton,  that  he  himself  had 


470 

procured,  to  a  torture  worse  than  death  ?  Have  ye  forgot 
how  at  Lambeth  to  get  evidence  from — " 

"Be  silent,"  said  Joscelyn.  "He  is  dying,  and  hath 
doubtless  repented.  I  would  that  they  had  left  him  to  die 
in  his  bed,  for  he  is  old,  and  methinks  past  harming  the  na- 
tion any  more.  There  be  others  more  guilty  who  go  un- 
touched." 

His  tone  silenced  the  men,  and  for  some  time  nothing  was 
heard  save  the  monotonous  plash  of  the  oars  and  the  dull 
roar  of  voices  in  the  distance.  A  profound  depression  fell 
upon  Joscelyn  ;  he  could  not  think  the  death  of  the  arch- 
bishop a  necessity,  and  more  and  more  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  Presbyterians  were  following  in  Laud's  own  mis- 
taken steps,  and  forcing  upon  a  reluctant  people  a  uni- 
formity which  meant  bondage.  When  would  the  day  of 
toleration,  for  which  Hampden  had  hoped  and  Brooke  had 
argued,  dawn  on  the  troubled  land  ?  When  would  men 
learn  that  the  highest  unity  is  incompatible  with  forced 
uniformity  ? 

His  spirits  were  not  raised  by  the  visit  to  the  Neptune, 
where  a  glimpse  into  the  stifling  hold  in  which  the  unfort- 
unate prisoners  lay  was  enough  in  his  weakened  state  to 
make  him  stagger  and  clutch  hold  of  Morrison  for  support. 
The  jailer,  having  received  the  order  of  release,  went  to 
summon  Jervis,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  two  brothers  con- 
fronted each  other,  the  elder  with  disordered  dress  and 
traces  of  the  sufferings  he  had  gone  through  during  his 
brief  imprisonment,  the  younger  white  to  the  lips,  looking 
as  though  he  had  already  lived  through  years  of  pain.  For 
a  minute  Jervis  was  too  much  taken  aback  at  the  havoc 
wrought  in  him  to  do  anything  but  stare. 

"  Confound  it  all !"  he  cried,  with  a  blank  look  at  the 
empty  sleeve  of  his  brother's  doublet,  "  what  have  you  done 
with  your  arm  ?" 


"Left  it  at  Newbury,"  replied  Joscelyn,  the  ghost  of  a 
smile  flitting  over  his  face. 

"  For  once,  then,  rebellion  has  not  paid,"  said  Jervis, 
with  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction.  "  The  jade  Fortune  hath 
meted  out  justice  at  last.  Here,  my  friends,"  he  said,  beck- 
oning to  three  miserable-looking  captives  who  were  taking 
their  allotted  time  of  exercise  on  deck,  "  let  me  present  you 
with  a  fine  example  of  the  reward  of  virtue  and  the  punish- 
ment of  vice.  Behold  the  loyal  subject !" — he  laughingly 
threw  back  his  head  and  tossed  up  his  strong  arms ;  "  be- 
hold the  traitor !" — he  pointed  tauntingly  to  the  figure  lean- 
ing against  the  taffrail. 

The  prisoners,  imbittered  by  suffering,  burst  into  a  roar 
of  scornful  laughter. 

The  hot  blood  surged  up  in  Joscelyn's  face,  his  eyes 
flashed ;  but  in  the  midst  of  his  anger  he  remembered  the 
stifling  hold  in  which  these  unfortunate  Royalists  had 
lain. 

"  Sirs,"  he  said,  with  admirable  temper,  "  I  am  glad  to 
furnish  mirth  for  you  in  this  dismal  prison,  from  which  I 
heartily  wish  I  had  orders  to  release  you  as  well  as  my 
brother." 

"What,  'tis  your  brother;  eh,  Jervis?"  said  one  of  those 
who  had  laughed  loudest.  "  And  he  hath  come  to  release 
you  ?  Then  'twas  a  scurvy  trick  you  played  us,  and  what- 
ever his  politics,  I  say  your  brother  is  a  gentleman,  and  I 
ask  his  pardon  for  our  discourtesy." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Jervis,  with  an  impatient  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  "  out  of  his  disloyalty  I  suck  no  small  advantage. 
So  farewell,  gentlemen,  and  may  Heaven  favor  you  all  with 
a  rebel  kinsman  to  deliver  you." 

He  disappeared  over  the  side  of  the  Neptune,  and  took 
his  place  in  the  stern  of  the  little  boat ;  but  the  sight  of 
Joscelyn's  slow  descent,  and  the  pain  it  evidently  involved, 


472 

touched  him ;  he  could  well  understand  what  it  must  cost  a 
man  of  his  brother's  temperament  to  be  helped  down  into 
the  stern  by  a  servant  and  a  waterman,  and  no  more  taunts 
escaped  him.  He  volunteered  an  account  of  his  father  and 
of  Dick,  of  the  winter  they  had  passed  at  Bristol,  and  how 
he  hoped  shortly  to  obtain  an  exchange  into  Prince  Ru- 
pert's troop,  Will  Denham  taking  his  place  in  Hopton's 
army. 

This  led  the  talk  round  to  Arthur  Denham  and  to  the 
doings  at  Shortell,  and  by  the  time  the  two  brothers  had 
landed  and  made  their  way  to  Henry  Barrington's  cham- 
bers in  the  Temple  the  scene  on  board  the  Neptune  was  for- 
gotten, and  they  parted  in  kindness.  Jervis  was  Jervis  still. 
But  he  was  not  ungrateful  for  his  release,  nor  could  he  avoid 
feeling  a  certain  sort  of  respect  for  the  man  whom  he  had 
termed  a  traitor. 

"  Brendon  was  right  just  now,"  he  reflected,  as  he  made 
his  way  up  Drury  Lane  to  the  house  of  a  Royalist  friend. 
"  Joscelyn  will  always  remain  a  gentleman  and  a  Heyworth. 
'Tis  my  belief  that  had  he  not  met  with  that  arch-rebel 
Hampden  he  would  have  stood  by  the  King  as  loyally  as  he 
stands  by  his  own  family." 

Joscelyn  returned  to  Katterham  the  next  day,  and  for 
some  weeks  managed  to  endure  life  with  a  tolerable  degree 
of  ease.  But  after  a  time,  when  Rosamond  had  become 
thoroughly  established  at  the  Court-house,  and  had  to  spend 
most  of  the  day  over  her  studies,  when  Clemency  could  no 
longer  devote  herself  exclusively  to  him,  but  was  forced  to 
spend  much  time  in  the  guidance  of  her  great  household 
and  in  the  care  of  her  child,  his  spirits  began  to  flag.  It 
was  in  vain  that  she  procured  books  for  him — he  seemed 
lacking  in  all  inclination  to  open  them ;  the  weather  was 
severe,  and  kept  him  almost  entirely  confined  to  the  house, 
and  the  dull  weight  of  his  crippled  existence  seemed  to 


473 

paralyze  him  completely ;  sometimes  he  would  struggle 
against  it,  pace  to  and  fro  in  the  library  in  a  dreary  duty 
walk,  or  take  up  the  copy  of  Milton's  Areopagitica  which 
had  been  sent  to  him  from  London,  and  try  to  grapple  with 
sentences  that  stirred  no  answering  thrill  in  his  heavy 
heart. 

Clemency,  young  and  inexperienced,  failed  to  understand 
his  state.  She  could  not  enter  into  the  misery  he  was  under- 
going at  the  thought  that  he  could  no  longer  work  for  the 
country,  because  she  was  absorbed  in  the  rapturous  relief  of 
finding  that  his  illness  was  not  mortal,  and  that  there  was 
every  chance  of  his  living  to  old  age.  Surely  he  had  now 
done  enough  for  England  ?  Surely  he  might  enjoy,  as  she 
enjoyed,  the  quiet,  uninterrupted  bliss  of  home  life  ? 

It  happened  at  this  time  that  she  was  also  anxious  about 
little  Tom,  who  was  sadly  frail  and  delicate.  She  kept  her 
fears  from  Joscelyn,  unwilling  to  add  to  his  trouble,  and 
having  once  noticed  that  the  child's  fretting  irritated  him, 
she  made  Charlotte  keep  the  little  fellow  at  every  available 
minute,  and  not  at  all  realizing  that  her  frequent  absences 
seemed  long  to  Joscelyn,  or  that  when  she  was  with  him 
her  heart  was  all  the  time  with  her  sick  child. 

Her  change  was,  however,  very  apparent  to  him,  and  he 
brooded  over  it  as  only  an  invalid  can  brood,  until  the  thing 
had  grown  out  of  all  proportion,  and  he  had  almost  per- 
suaded himself  that  Clemency  no  longer  cared  for  him,  and 
wished  him  away.  A  gloom  settled  over  the  whole  house- 
hold ;  it  seemed  as  if  his  own  depression  affected  every  one 
else  ;  the  very  children  scarcely  spoke  when  they  were  in  the 
same  room  with  him,  while  Rosamond  was  again  driven  to 
confiding  her  sorrows  to  Cymro,  and  went  about  with  as 
wistful  a  face  as  ever  she  had  borne  during  her  scolded  life 
at  Shortell.  No  one  scolded  her  now,  but  she  had  a  miser- 
able perplexed  feeling  that  something  beyond  her  under- 


474 

standing  was  passing  in  the  household,  and  she  had  often 
felt  nearer  to  Joscelyn  during  his  absence  with  Waller's  army 
than  she  did  now,  though  actually  under  the  same  roof. 

By  the  time  little  Tom  had  practically  recovered,  Clem- 
ency awoke  to  the  perception  that  her  husband  was  beyond 
her  help;  they  had  drifted  apart,  and  do  what  she  would  she 
could  not  regain  the  sense  of  perfect  companionship  which 
had  made  the  first  days  of  his  illness  bright.  It  was  some- 
times with  a  sense  of  unspeakable  terror  that  she  realized 
how  little  they  really  knew  of  each  other.  After  all,  what 
were  the  brief  weeks  of  acquaintance  before  their  betrothal 
but  a  surface  knowledge  ?  What  was  the  interrupted  inter- 
course during  the  war  but  a  brief  joy  snatched  out  of  the 
universal  trouble  and  confusion  ?  Clearly,  now  that  he  was 
entirely  cut  off  from  the  outer  world,  he  had  learned  the 
fatal  error  he  had  made  —  had  realized  that  the  wife  to 
whom  he  was  tied  could  in  no  way  suffice  him.  So  argued 
poor  Clemency,  and  unconsciously  her  manner  grew  more 
grave  and  repressed.  Always  inclined  by  nature  to  see  the 
sad  aspect  of  life,  and  to  depend  on  others  for  fostering  her 
cheerfulness,  she  became  each  day  less  able  to  cope  with 
the  atmosphere  of  depression  which  pervaded  the  house. 
Moreover,  she  had  never  really  recovered  from  the  shock 
that  Original  Sin's  treachery  had  given  her,  and  though 
no  one  ever  spoke  of  that  past  episode,  and  though  it 
seemed  to  her  more  like  a  bad  dream  than  a  bit  of  actual 
life,  it  had  left  her  nerves  shattered  and  her  powers  of  calm 
judgment  impaired.  To  breath  a  word  of  her  trouble  to 
Mrs.  Ursula  would  have  been  treason  to  her  husband,  and 
she  went  about  always  with  the  sad  consciousness  that  her 
grandfather,  the  one  being  who  might  have  put  matters 
straight,  had  passed  away  to  the  other  world,  leaving  her 
to  struggle  on  as  best  she  might — the  incapable  head  of  a 
dreary  house. 


475 

At  last  one  bleak  spring  day  matters  reached  a  crisis. 
For  the  last  twenty-four  hours  Joscelyn  had  scarcely  spoken 
a  word  to  any  one,  and  the  dark,  clouded  look  of  his  brow 
and  eyes  told  that  the  demon  of  depression  had  him 
prisoner,  body  and  soul.  Something  she  must  do  to  com- 
bat this  wretched  malady. 

"  Here  is  a  newspaper  just  brought  by  Mr.  George  Eve- 
lyn's man,"  she  said,  entering  the  study  timidly.  "Maybe 
we  shall  hear  more  of  the  late  mutiny  at  Farnham." 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Oh,  Joscelyn,  there  is  good  news !"  she  cried,  glancing 
down  the  printed  sheet,  and  beginning  to  read  it  aloud  as 
she  had  so  often  done  in  her  grandfather's  time.  "  Sir 
William  Waller  came  undiscovered  to  the  Devizes  till  he 
faced  the  town,  who  sent  out  a  party  of  horses  and  dra- 
goons to  skirmish  with  him,  whom  Waller's  men  beat  back 
and  pursued  into  the  town,  taking  of  them  one  hundred  and 
ninety  horse,  sixty  foot,  and  four  hundred  arms." 

A  gleam  of  eager  interest  flashed  over  Joscelyn's  face, 
only  to  be  succeeded  by  a  more  profound  depression.  His 
whole  being  rebelled  against  the  useless  life  to  which  he 
was  condemned ;  every  pulse  within  him  throbbed  with 
strong  desire  to  be  back  once  more  with  his  troop,  leading 
them  again  to  victory. 

Clemency  at  last  divined  what  was  passing  in  his  mind, 
and  in  her  great  longing  to  comfort  him  she  forgot  the  dif- 
fidence that  of  late  had  made  her  manner  restrained  to  the 
verge  of  coldness. 

"  Dear  heart,"  she  said,  bending  over  him  with  a  caress 
that  a  week  ago  he  would  have  welcomed,  "  'twas  foolish  of 
me  to  read  that  to  you,  and  yet  methought  the  news  of 
the  victory  would  have  given  you  pleasure." 

All  the  wild  rebellion  against  his  lot  seemed  to  express 
itself  in  the  impatient  vehemence  with  which  he  freed  him- 


476 

self  from  her  embrace.  With  a  gesture  which,  from  Josce- 
lyn,  was  equivalent  to  a  blow  from  another  man,  he  sprang 
to  his  feet. 

"  All  I  ask,"  he  cried,  "  is  that  you  will  leave  me  alone  !" 

The  sound  of  his  own  voice  in  its  wrathful  intensity  hor- 
rified him,  and  brought  him  back  to  his  senses.  If  Clem- 
ency had  shed  a  single  tear  he  would  have  been  at  her  feet 
in  an  instant.  But  the  rebuff  seemed  to  have  turned  her 
into  stone  ;  for  a  minute  she  stood  motionless  ;  then,  with- 
out one  word,  she  took  his  request  literally  and  quitted  the 
room. 

Joscelyn  paced  the  room  in  great  trouble  of  mind.  Not 
only  was  his  life  forever  crippled,  but  it  seemed  that  his 
character  was  also  fast  degenerating.  Where  was  the  buoy- 
ant strength  that  had  carried  him  through  the  hardships 
and  perils  and  temptations  of  his  soldier  life  ?  Where 
was  the  hope  that  had  been  his  staff  ?  Where  the  cheer- 
fulness that  Waller  had  been  wont  to  praise  ?  Had  all 
been  swept  away  with  his  health  ?  Was  he  merely  the  toy 
of  circumstances,  to  be  robbed  of  his  courage  and  manhood 
by  a  musket- ball  or  the  thrust  of  a  pike?  by  the  bitter 
frost  or  the  damp  of  a  campaign  ? 

His  eye  fell  on  the  motto  carved  on  the  chimney-piece : 

"  Lett  come  what  will  come, 
God's  will  is  well  come." 

Often  during  those  dark  days  he  had  fiercely  rebelled 
against  the  assertion ;  but  now  in  the  misery  of  his  regret 
at  having  grievously  pained  Clemency,  in  the  depths  of  his 
despair  at  the  discovery  of  his  own  irritable  impatience,  he 
perceived  that  his  failure  had  come  from  a  mistaken  notion 
that  for  an  active  life  only  need  the  will  be  consecrated  to 
God.  The  days  of  his  service  were,  after  all,  not  ended ; 
there  was  work  before  him — perchance  the  hardest  work  he 


477 

had  ever  been  set  to.  For  how  could  a  man  bring  to  mere 
endurance  which  seemed  barren  of  all  results  the  glad- 
hearted  courage  that  had  made  active  service  a  keen  de- 
light ?  What  profit  would  his  years  of  suffering  bring  to  the 
country  ?  How  could  pain  and  loss  and  inactivity  be  the 
welcome  will  of  God?  Before  that  great  problem  which 
has  perplexed  all  men  he  stood  for  a  while  baffled.  Pres- 
ently, however,  there  flashed  back  into  his  memory  -a  vision 
of  the  wooded  valleys  of  Buckinghamshire,  and  away  in  the 
distance  sharply  outlined  on  the  green  hill-side  the  White- 
leaf  Cross  and  the  rainbow  above  it,  as  he  had  seen  it  on 
the  day  of  Hampden's  funeral. 

If  "  the  Captain  of  our  Salvation  "  in  doing  the  will  of 
God  had  been  brought  through  a  life  of  suffering  to  a  death 
of  shame  and  apparent  failure,  were  the  rank  and  file  to 
have  no  part  in  the  same  ?  On  the  other  hand,  if  they 
shared  in  the. pain,  surely  they  also  shared  in  the  glory. 
And  what  was  glory  but  the  power  to  bring  help  ? 

He  suddenly  grasped  a  truth  which  he  had  never  before 
even  approached;  he  saw  that  to  be  "in  Christ"  meant  not 
only  to  be  redeemed,  but  also,  in  some  sort,  to  be  a  re- 
deemer. It  was  no  mere  metaphor  of  the  head  and  the 
members,  but  a  living  fact ;  and  he  —  crippled,  shattered, 
doomed  to  physical  inactivity — had  yet  the  power  to  serve 
the  country  in  ways  unknown  by  the  resolute  consecration 
of  his  will. 

The  meaning  of  all  the  suffering  he  had  seen,  whether  in 
its  ghastliest  forms  on  the  battle-field  or  in  the  room  at 
Thame,  or  at  the  death  of  such  a  victim  as  John  Drake,  of 
Lincoln,  seemed  now  clear  to  him.  It  was  the  purchase- 
money  of  reform,  of  progress,  of  redemption  from  the  sla- 
very of  sin  to  the  freedom  of  love.  When  apparently  profit- 
less, it  was,  if  not  self-sought,  the  most  honorable  because 
the  most  difficult  service  of  all. 


Clemency  meanwhile,  shut  into  her  little  dressing-room, 
had  utterly  broken  down;  all  her  calm  dignity  had  vanished, 
and  she  cried  like  a  heart-broken  child,  partly  from  the  sheer 
pain  of  the  rebuff,  partly  from  the  growing  sense  of  her  own 
mistakes  and  shortcomings.  Her  over -anxiety  about  her 
babe  had  blinded  her  to  Joscelyn's  needs,  and  in  her  self- 
reproach  she  was  ready  to  think  that  any  other  woman 
would  have  had  the  sense  to  avoid  so  great  a  blunder,  and 
that  had  he  but  chosen  some  other  wife  all  might  have  been 
well  with  him. 

While  she  was  still  weeping  very  bitterly  she  heard  a 
knock  and  the  soft  opening  of  her  door,  and  fancying  that 
it  must  be  Monnie  coming  in  her  usual  fashion  to  bear  her 
company,  made  a  hurried  excuse,  and,  without  raising  her 
head,  bade  the  child  go. 

"  My  dearest  heart,"  said  Joscelyn,  stooping  to  kiss  her 
hand,  "forgive  me." 

She  looked  up  in  astonishment.  Not  a  word  would  come 
to  her  lips,  but  she  wreathed  her  arms  about  his  neck,  her 
sobs  gradually  ceasing  as  she  clung  to  him. 

"  What  a  brute  I  must  be  to  have  mistaken  you !"  said 
Joscelyn.  "  Is  it  my  wretched  ill-temper  that  still  makes 
you  weep  ?" 

"  Not  that  now,"  said  Clemency ;  "  'tis  over  and  gone. 
But  I  cannot  forgive  myself.  I  fretted  and  fussed  because 
Tom  was  ailing,  and  I  left  you  lonely.  And  then  when  I 
wanted  to  help  you  'twas  of  no  use,  and  I  began  to  think 
just  now  it  must  all  have  been  a  mistake,  and  that  you  might 
have  been  happier  if — if— 

"  If  what  ?"  asked  Joscelyn. 

"If  you  had  married  some  one  else,"  said  Clemency, 
sadly. 

"  But  how  could  that  be,  when  you  are  the  only  one  in  all 
this  world  that  I  love  ?" 


479 

"She  might  have  had  more  sense  than  I  have  shown 
these  last  few  weeks,"  said  Clemency,  despondently.  "  I 
mean  that  fair  Mistress  Anne  Barrington,  of  whom  you  told 
me  long  ago." 

He  burst  out  laughing ;  and  the  sound  of  that  clear,  ring- 
ing laugh,  which  she  had  not  heard  since  they  were  together 
at  Farnham  in  the  old  garden  of  the  Bush  Inn,  dispelled 
the  last  remnant  of  Clemency's  sorrow. 

"  My  beloved,"  said  Joscelyn,  holding  her  more  closely 
as  a  vision  rose  before  him  of  a  girlish  figure  standing  in 
an  oriel-window,  keenly  conscious  of  the  beauty  of  her  own 
face  and  dress  and  dainty  pink  shoes,  while  she  protested 
that  his  sad  talk  spoiled  her  pleasure,  "pretty  Mrs.  Anne 
married  a  wealthy  parson,  who  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  help 
her  to  climb  *  the  steep  and  thorny  way.'  Certain  am  I  of 
this :  that  she  could  only  have  enticed  me  along  '  the  prim- 
rose path  of  dalliance.'  So  let  us  take  heart,  dearest,  and 
begin  anew  and  climb  hand  in  hand." 

"  Hark  !"  said  Clemency,  starting  back ;  "  what  can  that 
strange  shouting  and  hooting  mean  ?" 

Joscelyn  threw  open  the  casement,  and  a  babel  of  voices 
reached  them ;  but  the  church  and  the  surrounding  trees 
barred  all  further  view. 

Just  then  Hester's  voice  was  heard  beneath  the  window. 
"Had  my  grandfather  been  alive,  'twould  not  have  chanced," 
she  said,  indignantly. 

"  But  Joscelyn  is  now  a  magistrate,"  said  Rosamond ; 
"  he  could  hinder  them." 

"  What  is  amiss  ?"  asked  Joscelyn,  to  the  great  astonish- 
ment of  the  two  girls,  thrusting  out  his  head  from  the  upper 
window. 

"  Oh,  Joscelyn,  'tis  a  wizard  they  brought  to  the  pond  to 
duck,  and  'twas  frozen  hard,  and  now  they  vow  they'll  hang 
him." 


480 

"  We'll  put  a  stop  to  that,"  said  Joscelyn,  his  eyes  dilat- 
ing as  they  were  wont  to  do  in  excitement.  "  Come,  Clem- 
ency, the  people  know  you  better  than  they  know  me ;  let 
us  go  together." 

Clemency  knew  better  than  to  protest  that  the  afternoon 
was  too  cold  for  him ;  she  only  threw  his  cloak  about  him, 
and  hurried  forth  into  the  bitter  air  without,  following  the 
two  girls  through  the  grounds  to  the  gate-house,  and  across 
the  road  to  a  bit  of  open  country  where,  to  her  infinite  hor- 
ror, she  caught  sight  of  the  War  Coppice  Wizard — a  familiar 
and  greatly  detested  character,  who  for  some  six  months 
had  haunted  the  neighborhood — already  hanging  from  the 
bough  of  an  aged  oak-tree.  Around  him,  shouting  and 
jeering,  stood  some  thirty  or  forty  villagers  in  a  state  of 
frenzied  animosity.  Joscelyn  strode  into  the  midst  of 
them. 

"Cut  the  man  down!"  he  shouted,  as  though  he  had  been 
commanding  a  troop. 

The  villagers,  startled  and  a  little  awed,  became  perfectly 
silent;  but  no  one  volunteered  to  save  the  wizard,  whose 
agonized  struggles  and  convulsions  were  piteous  to  behold. 
No  time  was  to  be  lost,  and  Joscelyn,  seizing  the  quivering 
legs  of  the  victim  in  his  arm,  raised  the  poor  wretch  as  high 
as  he  could  reach,  relieving  the  strain  of  the  rope  round  his 
throat. 

"Out  with  your  billhook,  Diggory  Brown !"  he  cried,  catch- 
ing sight  of  the  village  constable. 

The  man  reluctantly  obeyed,  awkwardly  drawing  forth 
his  hook,  while  he  kept  his  first  and  fourth  fingers  studious- 
ly pointed  towards  the  wizard  like  a  two-pronged  fork,  to 
avert  the  evil-eye. 

"  Sir,"  he  protested,  I  dursent  touch  un,  he'll  do  me  a 
mischief ;  he's  overlooked  more  than  one  of  the  villagers, 
and  Jake  Johnson's  cow  is  bewitched,  and  Gregory — " 


48 1 

"I  will  look  into  all  that  by -and -by,"  said  Joscelyn. 
"Haste  and  cut  the  rope,  or  the  man  will  be  dead." 

"  Sir,  if  he  be  innocent,  why  the  rope  will  break,"  protest- 
ed the  constable.  "  We  do  but  put  un  to  the  ordeal.  There's 
them  above  as  '11  keep  a  innocent  man  from  hanging." 

"  Try  the  ordeal  on  yourself,  my  friend,  before  you  put  a 
rope  round  another  man's  neck.  Would  to  God  I  had  my 
right  arm  !  Is  there  not  one  man  among  you  who  will  help 
me  ?" 

The  appeal  touched  them;  not  one,  but  half  a  dozen 
pressed  forward  to  the  rescue,  and  the  unfortunate  wizard 
was  delivered  out  of  the  very  jaws  of  death.  For  some  min- 
utes he  lay  half  conscious  on  the  grass,  while  Joscelyn  dis- 
persed the  crowd ;  and  when  the  constable  seized  him  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  off  to  the  Court-house,  he  made  no  resist- 
ance, walking  along  in  a  dazed  way,  and  allowing  himself  to 
be  put  in  one  of  the  cellars  where  prisoners  were  usually 
placed  while  waiting  the  magistrate's  decision.  Not  till  Dig- 
gory  Brown  had  left  the  premises  did  Joscelyn  address  a 
single  word  to  the  wizard,  and  it  was  with  no  small  trepida- 
tion that  the  women  of  the  household  saw  him  go  down  the 
cellar  stairs  to  find  out  the  truth  about  his  prisoner.  He 
came  back  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  beckoned  Clemency 
into  the  study  to  tell  her  what  had  passed. 

"  The  fellow,"  he  said,  "  is  no  wizard,  even  if  such  beings 
exist,  which  I  greatly  doubt.  But,  as  ill-luck  will  have  it, 
he  is  what  is  even  more  obnoxious  in  the  eyes  of  all  English- 
men— he  is  an  Irishman." 

Clemency  shrank  back  in  horror. 

"What!"  she  cried;  "one  of  those  bloodthirsty  savages, 
and  you  down  there  alone  with  him !" 

"  The  poor  fellow  seems  harmless  enough,"  said  Joscelyn, 
"  and  as  far  as  I  can  make  out  his  story  it  is  this :  He  was 
seized  by  some  of  the  King's  party  in  Ireland,  and  forced  on 
31 


482 

board  a  troop-ship.  Most  of  the  soldiers  were  English,  but 
there  were  others  of  his  countrymen  who  had  been  pressed 
in  the  same  way.  The  ship  was  wrecked  on  the  Welsh 
coast  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  Swanley,  a  Parliamentary 
captain,  who  had  pity  on  the  English  Royalists,  but  showed 
no  mercy  to  the  Irish — the  poor  fellows  were  tied  back  to  back 
and  pitched  into  the  sea.  This  Terence,  as  he  calls  him- 
self, had  better  luck  than  the  rest ;  the  match  ran  short,  he 
was  insecurely  tied,  and  parted  from  his  fellow-victim  as  they 
were  thrown.  Managing  to  keep  himself  afloat,  he  was 
washed  ashore  at  dusk,  and  ever  since  has  tramped  the 
country,  living  as  best  he  can." 

"  But  the  folk  do  say  he  is  a  wizard,"  said  Clemency. 

"  Merely  because  for  six  months  he  has  lived  in  a  sort  of 
cave  scooped  out  of  the  chalk  below  War  Coppice,  and  be- 
cause he  avoids  talking  to  the  villagers,  and  potters  about 
gathering  strange  herbs.  Then  his  English  is  imperfect, 
and  he  crosses  himself  in  the  oddest  and  quickest  fashion 
you  ever  saw,  so  that  the  folk  are  like  enough  to  think  he 
is  muttering  charms  and  making  signs  to  the  Evil  One.  He 
seems  very  grateful  for  his  release,  and  when  you  see  him 
and  speak  with  him  you  will  quickly  find  that  he  is  no  sav- 
age." 

"  But  they  say  the  Irish  are  worse  than  the  most  wicked 
of  the  Cavaliers,"  said  Clemency ;  "  that  they  slay  and  eat 
people." 

Joscelyn  laughed. 

"  'They  Say  '  is  ofttimes  a  great  liar.  For  my  part,  I  think 
whenever  I  hear  of  the  wicked,  bloodthirsty  Irish,  of  my 
pretty  old  Irish  grandmother,  and  the  tales  she  told  me  of 
Brian  Boru.  And  for  her  sake  I  ask  you  to  take  pity  on 
this  poor,  ill-used  vagabond." 

"  I  will  do  it  for  your  sake,"  said  Clemency.  "  How  can 
we  help  him  ?" 


483 

"  Only  by  sheltering  him  here,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "  for  had 
the  villagers  known  him  for  an  Irishman,  they  would  have 
been  legally  within  their  rights  in  hanging  him.  Last  Oc- 
tober an  ordinance  was  passed  that  every  Irishman  taken, 
either  at  sea  or  on  land,  should  be  put  to  death.  I  intend 
to  break  that  law,  and  to  keep  the  sixth  commandment. 
Are  you  willing  to  share  the  risk  with  me?" 

"  Yes,  dear  heart,"  said  Clemency,  smiling ;  "  that  is  pre- 
cisely what  I  like  best." 

So  Terence  remained  at  the  Court-house,  and,  being  de- 
cently treated,  he  quickly  lost  the  look  which  had  roused 
the  hatred  and  fear  of  the  villagers.  Joscelyn  explained  to 
them  that  he  was  a  shipwrecked  foreigner ;  and  when  he  left 
off  making  cabalistic  passes  with  his  right  hand,  and  sat 
soberly  through  the  services  every  Sunday  at  the  church, 
looking  eminently  respectable  in  his  blue  lackey's  coat, 
even  Diggory  Brown,  the  constable,  owned  that  he  had 
made  a  mistake,  and  that,  after  all,  it  was  not  a  case  of  the 
evil-eye. 

The  Irishman's  attachment  to  his  rescuer  was  touching 
to  see,  and  when  a  month  had  passed  Joscelyn  determined 
to  keep  him  as  his  own  valet,  thus  freeing  his  faithful  serv- 
ant for  the  soldier's  life  that  the  honest  fellow  had  relin- 
quished for  love  of  his  master.  Morrison  obtained  a  post 
in  Cromwell's  own  regiment  in  the  New  Model,  and  Josce- 
lyn, with  wistful  eyes,  watched  him  ride  off  from  the  Court- 
house, then  turned  back  into  his  study  to  practise  the  slow 
and  tedious  left-hand  writing  in  which  he  had  determined  to 
become  a  proficient. 


CHAPTER  XL 

It  is  not  the  beautiful  front,  nor  the  rich  furniture,  but  the  noble 
heart  and  the  rich  mind  of  the  owner  that  recommends  the  house. 

— SIR  WILLIAM  WALLER. 

ONE  sunny  afternoon  towards  the  middle  of  June,  Josce- 
lyn,  who  was  now  able  to  take  a  fair  amount  of  exercise,  set 
out  on  a  long  postponed  duty  which,  as  a  local  magistrate, 
had  fallen  to  his  share.  Rosamond,  who  was  a  better  walker 
than  Clemency,  had  volunteered  to  go  with  him ;  and  the 
child's  happiness  was  perfect  when,  with  Cymro  bounding  on 
in  advance,  they  crossed  the  park,  talking  of  Dick  and  Shor- 
tell,  making  plans  for  the  future — in  which,  of  course,  Arthur 
Denham  had  his  share — and  basking  in  the  happy  con- 
sciousness of  a  tolerably  secure  present ,  for  in  the  pre- 
vious month  a  letter  had  been  received  from  Lady  Heyworth, 
in  which  she  mentioned  that  Jervis  had  visited  her  at  Ox- 
ford, and  had  advised  her  that  Rosamond  was  safest  under 
Joscelyn's  protection  ;  and  he,  being  only  too  eager  to 
keep  her,  had  promptly  written  to  his  mother,  promising  to 
give  the  child  a  home  until  the  war  was  ended  and  her 
marriage  could  be  arranged. 

Passing  the  comfortable  -  looking  farm  of  Friern,  they 
walked  down  through  shady  woods,  sweet  with  wild-roses 
and  honeysuckle,  to  the  tiny  hamlet  of  Chaldon.  The  Manor 
House  was  still  closed,  and  would  not  be  again  inhabited  till 
Hal  Coriton  was  of  age.  But  Joscelyn's  duty  was  in  the 
church ;  and  having  obtained  the  key  of  the  old  sexton,  he 
asked  what  the  feeling  of  the  people  was  with  regard  to  the 
painting  he  had  come  to  see. 

"  Bless  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,   "  there's  not  one 


485 

among  us  but  would  fain  have  un  daubed  out.  Tis  a  cruel 
popish  picture,  sir,  as  you'll  see  for  yourself." 

Throwing  back  the  heavy  door,  he  ushered  them  into  the 
tiny  church,  and  upon  the  west  wall  they  found  a  grewsome 
painting  in  red  and  yellow  ochre  representing  heaven  and 
hell.  In  the  lower  portion  eccentric -looking  demons  in- 
flicted on  their  victims  every  sort  of  hideous  torture ;  in  the 
upper  part  the  blessed  were  welcomed  by  angels.  But  that 
which  arrested  Joscelyn's  attention  and  carried  a  new 
thought  to  his  mind  was  the  sight  of  a  ladder  stretching 
straight  down  from  heaven  to  hell,  and  even  in  the  deep- 
est depths  the  miserable  souls  were  struggling  up  it.  Some, 
apparently,  were  dragged  back  by  demons ;  but  the  ladder 
remained,  and  those  that  persevered  seemed  to  gain  the  re- 
gions of  the  blessed. 

"  What  do  they  call  this  painting  ?"  he  asked.  "  It  must 
have  been  done  by  some  monk  in  old  times." 

"  I've  always  heard  un  call  it  'The  Ladder  of  Salvation,'  " 
said  the  sexton,  "  and  well  can  I  mind  gettin'  in  a  cold 
sweat  as  a  youngster  at  the  bare  thought  of  it.  See  that 
little  winder  up  above,  sir,  with  the  deep  splay  to  it  ?  I 
mind  looking  up  at  that,  and  finding  it  wonderful  comfort- 
ing to  see  the  blue  sky,  and  to  know  that  God  Almighty 
was  behind  it.  And  what  were  all  the  divells  in  hell  when 
compared  with  one  as  is  almighty,  and  loves  His  very 
enemies  ?  A  doant  mind  them  painted  divells  now  I'm  old, 
sir,  for,  says  I,  'What's  divells  but  a  swarm  o'  nasty  summer 
wasps  ?'  Plaguy  beasts  is  wasps  ,  but  they  doant  last  long, 
sir,  and  evil  be  a  plaguy  thing  thet  spoils  the  world  as 
wasps  spoil  the  summer ;  but  it  doant  last,  sir ;  'tis  bound  to 
go,  and  we'll  be  left  alone  with  Him  as  was  in  the  beginning 
is  now,  and  ever  shall  be." 

The  quavering  old  voice  had  a  genuine  ring  of  conviction 
that  appealed  to  Joscelyn. 


486 

"  If  you  have  been  able  to  get  from  the  painting  so  ex- 
cellent a  sermon,"  he  said,  "  I  doubt  if  I  ought  to  deem 
this  a  '  superstitious  picture.'  " 

"  Eh,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  eagerly,  "  doey  now  let  un 
put  a  coatin'  o'  whitewash  over  it.  The  children  are  cruel 
scaret  by  it." 

Joscelyn  smiled,. and  gave  the  order  for  the  whitewashing. 

"  Folk  are  cruel  enough  already,"  he  said  to  Rosamond, 
as  they  walked  back  through  the  woods.  "  There  is  no  need 
to  brutalize  them  more  by  such  vivid  shows  of  torture." 

The  old  man's  talk,  and  the  thought  suggested  to  him  by 
"  The  Ladder  of  Salvation,"  and  the  struggling  souls  who 
mounted  it,  remained  at  work  in  his  mind  for  many  years. 
And  often  when  Clemency  spoke  sadly  of  the  horrible  end  of 
Original  Smith,  or  when  he  himself  was  haunted  by  some 
of  the  terrible  scenes  he  had  witnessed  during  the  war,  a 
fresh  gleam  of  light  would  dawn  upon  him,  and  he  would 
add  a  page  or  two  to  the  manuscript  which  all  through 
these  stormy  years  of  strife  and  sorrow,  of  national  convul- 
sions and  personal  pain,  slowly  accumulated  in  his  desk. 
In  the  careful,  clear  writing  which  he  at  length  achieved 
with  his  left  hand  there  gradually  grew  a  volume,  published 
in  Commonwealth  days  under  the  title  :  "  Of  the  torments 
of  hell,  the  foundations  shaken  and  removed  ;  with  many 
infallible  proofs  that  there  is  not  to  be  a  punishment  that 
shall  never  end." 

And  often  Clemency  would  turn  to  a  passage  against 
which  she  had  pencilled  a  date  in  the  margin. 

"  Such  torments  of  such  continuance,"  urged  the  writer, 
"  agree  not  to  the  gracious  mind  and  merciful  heart  of  a 
saint  —  he  desires  not  any  man  or  creature  to  be  in  such 
torment  an  hour ;  therefore  it  doth  in  no  way  agree  to  the 
mind  of  God.  We  find  the  more  the  Lord  manifests  him- 
self in  any,  the  more  their  minds  and  spirits  are  humbled, 


487 

the  more  loving  and  merciful  they  are  even  to  their  ene- 
mies, and  can  do  them  good  for  evil.  Christ  is  full  of  love 
and  mercy  to  the  worst  men.  It  was  truly  said  of  Him  that 
He  was  a  friend  of  publicans  and  sinners." 

On  the  very  Saturday  that  they  had  walked  so  peacefully 
to  Chaldon,  the  battle  of  Naseby  had  been  fought,  and  on 
the  Monday  the  village  was  ringing  with  the  news.  On  the 
Tuesday,  Joscelyn,  to  his  surprise,  received  a  visit  from  his 
old  friend  Waller.  The  Conqueror's  military  career  was 
over;  for  in  accordance  with  the  Self-denying  Ordinance  he 
had  given  up  his  command,  and  had  returned  to  Westmin- 
ster, to  be  merely  the  Member  for  Andover.  A  genuine  pa- 
triot and  a  perfect  gentleman,  he  was  full  of  joy  at  the  suc- 
cess of  the  New  Model,  in  whose  victories  he  could  not 
share,  although  he  had  been  the  man  to  urge  the  necessity 
of  calling  it  into  being.  This  brilliant  victory  of  Naseby, 
in  especial,  could  not  fail  to  cheer  all  who  longed  for  free- 
dom ;  but  it  was  clouded  to  Joscelyn  by  the  news  of  his 
brother's  death. 

Sir  William  Waller  had  brought  with  him  a  letter  from 
Mr.  John  Rushworth,  secretary  to  General  Fairfax,  giving 
details  of  the  battle,  and  at  the  close  of  a  triumphant  account 
of  the  thousand  slain  in  the  fight  and  the  pursuit,  of  the  five 
thousand  prisoners,  including  some 'five  hundred  officers, 
and  of  the  capture  of  the  King's  artillery,  his  colors,  his 
coach,  and  his  cabinet,  came  the  brief  lines  which  were  all 
that  they  ever  learned  about  the  death  of  Jervis.  Sitting 
with  Waller  in  the  window-seat  of  his  study  at  the  Court- 
house, Joscelyn  read  and  reread  the  account :  "  A  party  of 
theirs  that  broke  through  the  left  wing  of  horse  came  quite 
behind  the  rear  to  our  train,  the  leader  of  them  being  a  per- 
son somewhat  in  habit  like  the  general — in  a  red  montero,  as 
the  general  had.  He  came  as  a  friend ;  our  commander  of 
the  guard  of  the  train  went  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 


asked  him  how  the  day  went,  thinking  it  had  been  the  gen-, 
eral ;  the  Cavalier,  who  we  since  heard  was  Rupert,  asked 
him  and  the  rest  if  they  would  have  quarter  ?  They  cried 
"  No,"  gave  fire,  and  instantly  beat  them  off.  It  was  a 
happy  deliverance.  There  was  slain  one  Captain  Jervis 
Heyworth,  brother  to  him  that  was  your  prime  favorite. 
He,  getting  a  musket-ball  in  the  breast  when  Prince  Rupert 
and  the  rest  took  to  flight,  dropped  from  his  horse,  fetched 
a  groan  or  two,  and  so  died,  ere  the  surgeon  could  come  at 
him." 

Joscelyn  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  vividly  realizing  the 
whole  scene.  It  was  a  comfort  to  him  to  remember  that,  at 
any  rate,  he  had  saved  Jervis  from  the  utter  misery  of  the 
prison-ship  in  the  Thames,  and  that  there  was  just  one 
pleasant  memory  of  his  brother  which  he  could  carry  through 
life — the  kindly  glance  and  the  few  words  of  friendly  fare- 
well when  they  had  parted  in  the  Temple.  Jervis  had  gained 
his  great  wish  of  serving  under  the  gallant  Prince  Rupert, 
for  whom,  spite  of  his  faults,  Joscelyn  could  not  but  feel  a 
certain  admiration,  and  he  had  fallen  while  fighting  bravely, 
as  became  a  Heyworth. 

"  'Tis  ever  the  prince's  failing  to  charge  with  great  reso- 
lution, to  succeed,  and  then  to  mar  his  work  by  wasting  time 
over  the  baggage-wagons,"  said  Waller.  "  'Twas  this  that 
kept  him  off  the  field  over-long  at  Edgehill ;  he  blundered  in 
the  first  battle,  and  now  hath,  spite  of  his  zeal  and  courage, 
blundered  in  that  which  may  prove  the  last  battle  of  this 
war." 

"  The  last !"  cried  Joscelyn,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  Is  there 
indeed  a  hope  that  this  may  be  the  last  ?" 

"  Methinks  the  King  will  find  it  impossible  to  recover  from 
a  blow  as  severe  as  this,"  said  Waller,  "  and  peace  must  soon 
come  to  this  bleeding  country.  Yesterday  several  that  had 
been  at  Naseby — Colonel  John  Fiennes,  among  others — were 


"DICK   ARDENTLY    DECLARING    HIS    LOVE. 


[Page  414- 


489 

called  into  the  House,  and  gave  us  a  full  account  of  the 
battle,  and  I,  privately  getting  this  letter  with  news  of  your 
brother,  was  glad  to  snatch  a  day  to  ride  down  here  and  see 
you." 

Joscelyn  pressed  his  guest  to  remain,  but  Waller  shook 
his  head. 

"  Right  gladly  will  I  come  here  from  time  to  time,"  he 
said ;  "  though  for  the  peace  and  rest  of  this  quiet  haven 
that  you  provide  for  me,  I,  in  return,  can  but  give  you  an  echo 
of  the  strife  and  care  which  surround  us  at  Westminster. 
But  now  I  can  only  lie  here  this  one  night,  since  early  on 
Thursday  both  Houses  and  the  City  are  to  keep  together 
the  Day  of  Thanksgiving,  with  services  at  Christchurch, 
and  afterwards  a  dinner  given  by  the  Lord  Mayor.  Then, 
erelong,  we  shall  have  before  us  the  reading  of  the  papers 
found  in  the  King's  cabinet,  which  have  not  yet  been  de- 
ciphered." 

"  God  grant  they  may  tend  to  the  peace  we  all  crave,"  said 
Joscelyn,  with  a  sigh. 

When  in  a  month's  time  he  saw  for  himself  the  treacher- 
ous letters  which  were  printed  and  read  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  he  realized  that  the  seizure 
of  the  cabinet  had  done  more  for  England  than  years  of 
fighting  could  have  achieved.  Before  all  men  Charles  was 
now  shown  to  be  hopelessly  false  to  his  word  and  a  traitor 
to  his  country.  Even  those  who  had  sacrificed  much  for  his 
cause  were  appalled  at  the  revelation,  and,  though  many 
months  passed  before  Joscelyn  knew  it,  his  brother's  awaken- 
ing dated  from  this  time. 

At  last  Dick's  idol  was  shattered.  It  was  impossible  for 
such  a  genuine  Englishman  to  regard  as  the  beau  ideal  of  all 
that  was  noble  and  virtuous  a  sovereign  who  had  tried  to 
bring  over  to  England  the  savage  French  soldiers  who  fought 
under  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  or  who  contemplated  making 


490 

peace  with  his  Irish  rebels  that  he  might  bring  over  an  army 
of  forty  thousand  of  them  to  fight  his  English  rebels. 

Poor  Dick  fought  on  in  Hopton's  army,  but  he  could  put 
no  heart  into  his  work ;  nothing  but  his  youth  and  his  love 
for  Hester  kept  him  from  actually  throwing  himself  into  the 
jaws  of  death,  so  miserable  was  the  sense  that  his  ideal  had 
been  but  a  dream. 

Good  old  Sir  Thomas  still  hotly  maintained  that  the  King 
could  do  no  wrong  ;  but  the  revelation,  coming  as  it  did  just 
after  the  news  of  his  son's  death,  struck  him  to  the  heart  He 
fought  on  doggedly,  trying  to  persuade  himself  that  the  letters 
were  forgeries,  and  quoting  more  fervently  than  ever  the 
motto  borne  on  Hopton's  standard :  "  I  will  strive  to  serve 
my  sovereign  King."  But  he  was  never  again  the  same  man ; 
and  it  was  with  relief  indescribable  that  Dick  learned  one 
day  of  Lord  Hopton's  resolve  to  accept  the  honorable  terms 
which  Fairfax  offered  to  the  army  of  the  west,  and  to  lay  down 
his  arms.  By  this  time  Sir  Thomas,  worn  out  with  the  frost 
and  cold  of  the  winter  and  the  soaking  rains  of  February, 
his  hearing  impaired  by  the  explosion  of  their  store  of  gun- 
powder in  Torrington  Church,  and  his  spirits  depressed  by 
the  daily  desertions  of  his  men,  was  in  no  state  to  resist  the 
general  conclusion  that  they  were  hopelessly  beaten.  The 
terms  of  surrender  were  far  better  than  Dick  had  expected: 
they  were  allowed  their  choice  either  to  go  back  to  their 
homes  or  to  leave  the  country,  and  the  officers  were  to  be 
allowed  to  keep  their  horses  and  pistols ;  those  who  stayed 
in  England  were,  however,  required  to  swear  that  they 
would  never  serve  against  the  Parliament.  But  even  this 
oath  Sir  Thomas  took  in  a  quiet,  dazed  fashion,  without  one 
protest. 

It  was  Arthur  Denham  who  hesitated  longest.  And  in 
the  end  even  he  was  brought  to  see  that  the  King's  cause 
must  have  been  utterly  hopeless  before  such  a  man  as  Lord 


491 

Hopton  would  have  consented  to  lay  down  his  arms,  and 
that  for  himself  perhaps  the  truest  work  might  be  to  help 
Dick  in  getting  old  Sir  Thomas  safely  home.  Their  weary 
journey,  ending  as  it  did  in  the  arrival  at  the  desolate  manor 
with  its  blackened  walls  and  devastated  rooms,  was  desolate 
enough.  It  was  rendered  all  the  more  miserable  when  old 
Barnaby  told  them  the  latest  news  from  Oxford.  Lady  Hey- 
worth  had  accompanied  her  daughter  and  Sir  Toby  Blount 
to  France,  Isabella  having,  a  fortnight  before,  received  or- 
ders to  attend  on  the  Queen.  This  seemed  to  be  the  last 
drop  in  the  poor  old  baronet's  cup. 

"  There  is  Rosamond  still  left  to  me,"  he  said.  "  We  will 
ride  on  to  Katterham ;  'tis  not  fitting  that  she  stays  longer 
under  that  rebel's  roof." 

"  Sir,"  protested  Dick,  "  he  hath  sheltered  her  as  a 
brother.  Can  we  not  at  length  lay  aside  our  differences  ?" 

But  Sir  Thomas,  in  his  misery  of  mind  and  body,  had  re- 
lapsed into  the  sharp,  irascible  tone  of  former  years. 

"  Is  he  less  a  rebel  because  his  party  hath  triumphed  ?" 
he  asked,  angrily.  "  'Tis  unwillingly  enough  I  have  thus 
long  left  the  maid  there,  and  for  myself  I  tell  you  frankly 
I  will  not  lie  in  his  house  or  break  bread  with  him." 

Dick  fell  into  deep  dejection.  They  paused  to  bait  the 
horses  at  the  way-side  inn  where  he  had  first  seen  Hester, 
and  dined  in  the  very  room  where  Original  Sin  had  met 
with  his  death ;  he  could  almost  have  fancied  that  he  again 
felt  Hester's  terrified  grip  on  his  arm  as  she  caught  sight 
of  the  dead  man  on  the  floor,  and  her  face,  sweet  and 
womanly  and  compassionate,  as  she  stooped  to  cut  off  a 
piece  of  his  hair  for  the  bereaved  mother,  rose  vividly  be- 
fore him. 

"  Will  you,  then,  lie  at  Bletchingley,  sir  ?"  he  asked,  sorely 
disappointed  that  they  were  not  at  once  to  proceed  to  the 
Court-house. 


492 

Sir  Thomas  nodded  an  assent,  but  in  his  secret  heart  he 
would  fain  have  ridden  straight  to  Katterham ;  and  when 
they  found  Sir  Richard  away  and  Bletchingley  Hall  shut  up, 
his  spirits  sank,  though  he  insisted  on  passing  the  night 
there,  and  drove  Dick  almost  desperate  by  vowing  that  he 
would  follow  Lady  Hey  worth  to  France,  and  remain  on  the 
Continent  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

He  was  in  a  mood  which  would  brook  no  resistance,  and 
neither  Dick  nor  Arthur  Denham  understood  his  sudden 
change  from  a  dazed  indifference  to  vehement  and  obstinate 
action.  The  two  friends  slept,  however,  being  young  and 
weary ;  the  old  man  rested  but  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and 
then  lay  in  the  darkness,  revolving  in  his  overwrought  brain 
a  dozen  wild  schemes  for  his  future  life.  At  sunrise  he 
stole  out  of  the  house,  saddled  his  horse  with  his  own 
hands,  and  rode  up  the  hill  to  Katterham,  finding  a  certain 
pleasure  in  the  bleak  March  wind,  and  in  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  stealing  a  march  on  his  companions,  who  still 
slept  peacefully  at  Bletchingley.  At  the  gate-house  he  in- 
quired for  Rosamond,  and  was  admitted.  The  order  and 
comfort  that  he  saw  around  him  made  a  strong  contrast  to 
the  wretched  plight  in  which  he  had  left  his  own  Manor 
House,  and  bitter  thoughts  and  stinging  speeches  began  to 
crowd  into  his  mind.  He  decided  that  he  would  ask  for 
Joscelyn,  and  speak  with  him  at  the  door,  coldly  refusing 
even  to  dismount.  But  his  plans  were  checkmated,  for  the 
front  door  stood  open,  and  on  the  step  between  the  great 
box  bushes  sat  two  figures,  a  girl  of  seven  or  eight  years 
old,  and  a  curly-headed,  blue-eyed  boy  of  two.  Between 
them  was  a  basket  of  daffodils  over  which  some  dispute  had 
arisen,  which  was  happily  ended  by  the  unexpected  appear- 
ance of  the  horse  and  its  rider.  Monnie  jumped  up  and 
courtesied  shyly,  but  Tom,  at  the  sight  of  the  powerful 
charger,  uttered  a  shout  of  joy,  and  began  to  caper  with  glee, 


493 

and  with  outstretched  arms  to  plead  in  baby  fashion  to  be 
lifted  up. 

Sir  Thomas  dismounted,  and  taking  the  child  in  his  arms, 
looked  eagerly  into  the  little  fair  face  with  its  unmistak- 
able Heyworth  features  and  crisp  little  curls ;  in  the  mean- 
time Monnie,  in  some  alarm,  had  summoned  Charlotte,  who 
came  hurrying  out  with  apologies  to  the  stranger. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home  ?"  asked  Sir  Thomas. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Charlotte,  "  he  hath  been  at  home  now 
this  long  time ;  but  all  through  this  winter  he  was  forced  to 
keep  to  his  bed,  and  is  but  now  recovering  his  strength  a 
little.  Walk  in,  sir,  and  I  will  tell  my  mistress.  What 
name  shall  I  say,  sir  ?" 

Sir  Thomas  somewhat  reluctantly  revealed  himself  ;  but 
Charlotte's  beaming  face  of  delight  mollified  him. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cried  the  faithful  servant,  "  'twill  be  indeed 
a  glad  day  for  my  master !  He  hath  been  full  of  anxiety 
for  you,  and  Mistress  Rosamond,  too.  I  will  haste  and  tell 
her,  sir.  I  little  thought  when  I  found  the  child  making  so 
free  with  a  stranger  that  he  had  been  the  first  to  know  his 
own  grandsire  !" 

Charlotte  ushered  the  guest  into  the  library,  threw  an- 
other log  on  the  fire,  and  bustled  off  to  announce  the  glad 
news. 

Sir  Thomas  paced  to  and  fro  with  a  confused  sense  that 
circumstances  were  too  strong  for  him,  and  a  haunting 
memory  of  a  plan  he  had  conceived  which  had  been  over- 
thrown by  the  greeting  of  a  little  child.  Suddenly  his  eye 
fell  on  a  newspaper  which  lay  on  the  table,  and,  taking  it 
up,  he  established  himself  comfortably  beside  the  hearth 
and  began  to  read.  What  was  this  ill  news  which  met  his 
glance  on  the  very  first  page  he  opened  : 

"  Letters  have  been  brought  by  Mr.  Temple  with  infor- 
mation that  Sir  Jacob  Astley  hath  been  totally  routed  by 


494 

Colonel  Morgan  and  Sir  William  Brereton  at  Stow-on-the 
Wold.  After  a  sore  conflict  on  both  sides,  wherein  two 
hundred  of  his  men  were  slain,  Sir  Jacob  Astley  and  six- 
teen hundred  of  the  Royalists  were  taken  prisoners.  The 
word  of  the  Parliament's  forces  was,  '  God  be  our  guide !' 
Astley's  word  was,  '  Patrick !'  and  '  George  !'  The  King's 
cause  is  now  finally  defeated,  even  by  the  confession  of  Sir 
Jacob  Astley  himself,  one  of  the  bravest  among  them.  He, 
talking  to  some  of  the  Parliament  officers  after  he  was 
prisoner,  told  them,  *  Now  you  have  done  your  work,  and 
may  go  play,  unless  you  fall  out  among  yourselves.'  " 

The  newspaper  dropped  from  the  old  man's  hand.  In  a 
dim  way  he  had  known  that  hope  was  at  an  end  ten  days 
ago  in  Cornwall,  but  now,  seeing  the  words  actually  in 
print,  the  truth  flashed  upon  him  in  all  its  intensity.  With- 
out a  word  or  a  moan  he  dropped  back  in  the  chair,  and 
Clemency,  entering  the  room  a  moment  later,  found  him 
stiff  and  unconscious. 

For  three  days  he  remained  in  that  strange  death  in  life, 
and  when  once  more  he  came  to  himself  and  saw  Rosamond 
and  Dick  near  him,  all  recollection  of  what  had  passed  had 
gone  from  his  mind.  He  seemed  puzzled  by  the  room,  and 
asked  where  they  had  taken  him. 

"  We  are  at  the  Court-house,  sir,"  explained  Rosamond, 
"  with  Joscelyn  and  Clemency." 

"  Clemency  ?"  he  said.    "  Who  is  Clemency  ?" 

"  She  is  your  new  daughter,  sir,  Joscelyn's  wife,"  said 
Clemency,  coming  forward  with  a  bowl  of  soup,  and  begin- 
ning to  feed  him.  Sir  Thomas  asked  no  more  questions, 
but  took  the  food  obediently  like  a  child,  eying  her  from 
time  to  time  with  great  content. 

"  I  had  thought  the  lad  was  still  at  Cambridge,"  he 
said,  musingly,  "  and  lo !  he  hath  a  wife  and  a  house  of  his 


495 

"And  a  child,  sir,"  said  Clemency,  smiling;  "your  little 
grandson." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  "time  passes  quickly 
when  one  is  old.  And  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear,  I  for- 
get  things  now;  I  forget." 

He  fell  asleep  peacefully,  and,  leaving  him  in  Charlotte's 
care,  the  three  stole  down  quietly  to  Joscelyn  and  told  him 
the  news. 

"  He  hath  recovered,  but  his  memory  seems  gone,"  said 
Clemency.  "  He  thought  you  were  still  unmarried  and  at 
Cambridge." 

"Then  maybe  he  will  never  remember  what  hath  hap- 
pened betwixt  that  time  and  this,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Let  us 
keep  from  him  all  things  that  would  remind  him  of  the  war. 
Put  the  armor  away  in  the  garret  out  of  sight,  and  let  no 
one  speak  a  word  of  public  matters.  Do  you  agree  to  this, 
Dick  ?" 

"  Aye,  right  willingly,"  he  replied. 

"  But  wait,"  said  Joscelyn.  "  Hath  my  father  already  freed 
the  estate  from  sequestration  ?" 

"  No;  for  the  only  way  to  do  it  involved  taking  the  Coven- 
ant, and  he  would  die  first,  though  he  swallowed  the  nega- 
tive oath  quietly  enough  at  Truro.  'Tis  hard  on  you,  now 
that  you  are  heir,  for  unless  he  can  be  brought  to  do  it  he 
will  not  be  able  to  save  Shortell,  though  they  say  the  date 
for  being  admitted  to  composition  hath  been  further  ex- 
tended since  December," 

"  Every  possible  chance  will  be  given  to  those  who  would 
make  their  peace,"  said  Joscelyn  ;  "  but  you  are  wrong  in 
saying  I  am  the  heir.  Now  that  Jervis  is  dead,  the  estate 
will  come  to  you.  My  father  disinherited  me  long  ago." 

"  In  words,  but  never  legally,"  replied  Dick.  "  You  are 
heir  to  Shortell,  my  friend,  however  much  you  may  protest 
against  it.  And  even  if  my  father  regained  his  memory  and 


496 

became  capable  of  making  another  will,  which  you  know  is 
scarcely  likely,  his  bequeathing  the  estate  to  me  could  only 
land  us  in  fresh  trouble,  for  should  not  I  have  to  go  forth- 
with before  the  committee  at  Goldsmith's  Hall  and  take 
the  Covenant  ?  No,  no ;  you  are  the  heir,  and  with  you 
there  will  be  no  difficulty  whatever." 

Joscelyn  mused  over  the  position  for  a  time. 

"  Legally,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I  am  the  heir,  but  moral- 
ly not.  I  shall  only  consent  to  be  the  nominal  owner,  Dick  ; 
Shortell  must  virtually  be  yours.  You  and  Hester  will,  me- 
thinks,  quickly  drive  out  the  ghosts,  the  bats,  and  perchance 
some  of  the  bitter  memories." 

"  But  you  should  be  just  before  you  are  generous  !"  cried 
Dick.  "  You  forget  your  child.  Are  you  not  defrauding 
him  of  his  rights  ?" 

Joscelyn  put  his  thin  white  hand  on  little  Tom's  curly 
head,  and  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  No,  Dick,"  he  said,  presently ,  "  methinks  I  give  him  a 
better  birthright  by  showing  him  that  law  is  not  always 
equity,  and  that  justice  now  and  then  doth  elude  its  coarse 
meshes.  Moreover,  I  would  venture  to  stake  a  fair  amount 
that  Tom,  if  he  lives  to  be  a  man,  will  himself  say  that  the 
estate  was  rightfully  yours,  and  will  not  quarrel  with  my  de- 
cision." 

All  through  that  year  of  1646  the  Court-house  became  a 
sort  of  shelter  of  the  destitute,  Joscelyn  and  Clemency  not 
only  giving  a  home  to  Sir  Thomas  and  Dick  and  Rosa- 
mond, but  welcoming  the  Denhams  whenever  they  liked  to 
avail  themselves  of  a  hospitable  roof,  and  keeping  at  the 
Dower-house  the  former  vicar  of  the  parish,  who,  upon  the 
establishment  of  the  Directory  and  the  abolition  of  the 
Book  of  Common  Prayer,  had  been  ejected  from  his  living. 
The  new-comer  chanced  to  be  one  of  the  victims  of  the  late 
archbishop,  who,  for  preaching  against  images  and  decora- 


497 

tions  in  churches,  had,  a  dozen  years  before,  been  deprived 
of  his  ministry,  and  for  occasionally  preaching  afterwards 
had  been  thrown  into  a  miserable  dungeon  in  Bridewell, 
heavily  ironed,  chained  to  a  post,  fed  on  bread  and  water, 
and  through  an  entire  winter  allowed  only  a  pad  of  straw 
for  a  bed.  All  these  privations,  combined  with  whipping 
and  hard  labor,  had  not  tended  to  sweeten  the  poor  man's 
temper.  To  keep  the  peace  between  the  new  minister  and 
the  old,  and  to  see  that  the  fifth  of  the  income  was — as  ap- 
pointed by  the  Parliament — paid  by  the  Presbyterian  to  the 
wife  and  child  of  the  Episcopalian,  proved  to  be  one  of  Jos- 
celyn's  most  unpleasant  duties  ;  but  after  a  while,  what  with 
his  bright  humor,  and  his  power  of  seeing  the  best  points 
of  both  the  men,  he  succeeded  in  bringing  them  to  a  less 
quarrelsome  frame  of  mind,  to  the  great  admiration  of  Mrs. 
Ursula,  whose  opinion  of  the  other  sex  gradually  rose. 

To  old  Sir  Thomas  the  year  passed  in  a  happy  second 
childhood  of  peace.  He  seldom  inquired  for  those  whom 
he  did  not  see,  never  fretted  over  the  absence  of  Lady  Hey- 
worth  or  Isabella,  and  delighted  in  teasing  the  two  betrothed 
couples,  and  in  discussing  plans  for  their  future  happiness. 
Now  and  then  Joscelyn  had  some  little  difficulty  in  evading 
questions  with  regard  to  his  empty  sleeve. 

"  It  pains  me,  lad,"  his  father  would  say,  "  to  think  that 
at  your  age  you  should  be  thus  shattered  and  broken  down. 
'Twas  a  ball  you  got  in  the  arm,  you  say  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  "a  5light  enough  hurt  at  the 
time." 

"  You  were  out  deer-stalking,  I  suppose  ?  Well,  'tis  a  fine 
sport,  and  accidents  will  happen  now  and  again.  There  was 
a  man  I  used  to  hunt  with  in  years  gone  by,  he  lost  an  arm, 
but  he  rode  well  enough  afterwards  with  a  hook  at  the  end 
of  his  stump.  'Twas  not  all  gone,  as  yours  is." 

To  Arthur  Denham  there  was  something  infinitely  pa- 
32 


498 

thetic  in  the  struggle  which  Joscelyn  made  to  shield  his 
father  from  the  shock  of  realizing  the  King's  defeat,  or  of 
gaining  any  recollection  of  the  civil  strife.  Often  he  saw 
him  chatting  gayly  with  the  old  man  when  his  lips  were 
blanched  with  the  pain  of  the  injury  he  had  got  at  Lans- 
down ;  and  remembering  the  intense  bitterness  of  the  old 
baronet  when  he  had  first  met  him  at  Farnham,  and  the 
trying  scenes  in  the  church  and  the  castle -hall,  he  most 
earnestly  hoped  that  this  happy  oblivion  would  continue  for 
the  rest  of  Sir  Thomas's  life.  The  doctor  argued  that  if  left 
in  undisturbed  quiet  the  old  man  might  live  for  years,  while 
on  the  other  hand  any  sudden  excitement  or  revival  of  pain- 
ful memories  would  probably  prove  fatal. 

It  chanced  that  on  little  Tom's  third  birthday  Joscelyn, 
sitting  in  the  study  where  his  father  dozed  peacefully  in  a 
great  arm-chair  by  the  hearth,  saw  a  man  wearing  Sir  Will- 
iam Waller's  livery  riding  across  the  court-yard.  He  stole 
out  of  the  room,  anxious  to  receive  the  latest  news  from 
Westminster,  and  to  prevent  the  man  from  rapping  at  the 
door  and  disturbing  his  father.  Outside  in  the  entrance- 
hall  Monnie  and  Tom  were  playing  battledoor  and  shuttle- 
cock. 

"  Be  quiet  for  a  while,  children,"  he  said.  "  I  must  leave 
the  door  open  in  case  your  grandfather  calls.  I  shall  be 
back  anon." 

Receiving  from  the  messenger  Sir  William's  letter,  he 
lingered  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  withdrawing -room,  not 
venturing  to  read  it  over  the  study  fire  lest  his  father  should 
perchance  awake  and  ask  the  contents. 

His  brow  clouded  as  he  read  the  brief  lines,  for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  Sir  Jacob  Astley's  words  were  being  fulfilled, 
and  that  they  were  beginning  to  fall  out  among  themselves 
very  seriously.  The  grave  injustice  shown  by  the  Parlia- 
ment in  refusing  money  for  the  arrears  of  the  soldiers'  pay 


499 

seemed  to  him  to  bode  ill  for  the  future,  and  Waller  spoke 
of  the  difficulty  he  had  found  in  hindering  a  duel  between 
Major  Ireton  and  Mr.  Holies,  the  former  having  justified 
the  soldiers'  petition. 

Meanwhile  little  Tom,  catching  sight  through  the  half- 
open  study  door  of  the  present  he  had  that  morning  re- 
ceived, forgot  to  follow  his  father's  injunction  to  be  quiet, 
and  running  into  the  room,  dragged  down  the  toy  bricks 
from  the  window-seat  and  implored  Monnie  to  come  and 
build.  Sir  Thomas  woke  up,  and  sat  quietly  watching  the 
two  little  playmates  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  We'll  build  Harlech  Castle,"  cried  Tom. 

"Yes,"  said  Monnie,  "because  'twas  the  very  last  one 
taken,  and  we  will  put  my  neckerchief  at  top  for  the  King's 
flag,  and  you  shall  be  the  Parliament's  soldiers,  and  drag  it 
down." 

"  Tom  knock  the  castle  down  !  Tom  make  a  crash  !" 
said  the  child,  clapping  his  hands. 

"  Hush  !"  said  Monnie,  "  you'll  awake  your  grandfather. 
And  I  know  a  better  play  than  that.  You  see,  Tom,  'tis 
stupid  to  put  up  the  flag  when  the  King's  flag  isn't  on  no 
real  castle  any  more.  And  we  won't  play  at  soldiers  and 
war,  because  your  father  doesn't  like  it." 

"  Me  like  soldiers  best,"  pouted  Tom. 

"  But,  Tom,  the  war  is  over.  Don't  you  remember  Char- 
lotte told  us  so  more  than  a  sennight  since  ?  Let  us  play 
at  real  happening  things,  Tom.  We'll  build  Holmby  House, 
and  have  my  Bartholomew  babe  for  a  prisoner.  For,  truly, 
Tom,  the  King  is  a  prisoner,  and  they  do  say  he  plays  at 
bowls  to  pass  the  time ;  we  will  make  pretend  bowls  with 
comfits." 

At  this  moment  Joscelyn  returned,  and  one  glance  at  his 
father's  ghastly  face  warned  him  that  a  great  change  was  at 
hand. 


500 

"  Sir,"  he  cried,  hurrying  forward,  "  are  you  ill  ?" 

Sir  Thomas  griped  fast  hold  of  him  with  both  hands. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth !"  he  panted.  "  Is  his  Majesty  in- 
deed a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels  ?" 

"  He  is  at  Holmby  House,  sir,  under  the  care  of  the  Par- 
liament." 

"  A  prisoner !  and  you  and  I  stay  idly  here  ?"  cried  Sir 
Thomas.  "What  did  they  say — the  war  at  an  end?  Aye, 
it  all  comes  back  to  me  now — it  all  comes  back !  You  were 
a  traitor — an  accursed  rebel.  Away  with  you  !  You  are  no 
son  of  mine !" 

Pushing  him  back  with  violence  which  terrified  the  chil- 
dren, he  started  to  his  feet ;  but  the  sight  of  the  anguish 
which  Joscelyn  could  not  hide  sobered  him. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  said,  "  you  were  piked  while  res- 
cuing Dick.  Here  comes  Clemency  to  chide  me  for  my 
roughness." 

He  turned  with  relief  to  his  daughter-in-law,  who,  at  the 
sound  of  the  loud  talking  in  the  study,  had  hastened  in 
from  the  garden  with  Rosamond.  She  glanced  from  one 
to  the  other,  dismayed  at  the  signs  of  both  physical  and 
mental  pain  in  her  husband's  face,  and  terrified  by  Sir 
Thomas's  agitation. 

"  Dear  sir,"  she  said,  coaxing  the  old  man  back  to  his 
chair,  "  it  is  true,  as  you  say,  that  Joscelyn  was  hurt  while 
saving  Dick,  but  methinks  the  knowledge  of  that  helps  him 
to  bear  the  pain  he  must  always  suffer." 

"  He  was  the  best  of  all  the  lads,  and  yet  a  rebel !"  sighed 
Sir  Thomas.  "  I  don't  understand  it !  I  never  could  un- 
derstand it." 

"  Sir,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  for  God's  sake  rest,  and  trouble 
yourself  no  further.  The  strife  is  at  an  end,  the  terms  of 
peace  are  being  arranged.  If  the  King  will  be  true,  all 
may  now  be  well." 


50' 

"  I  hate  your  '  ifs,'  "  said  Sir  Thomas,  petulantly.  "  The 
King  can  do  no  wrong." 

But,  vehemently  as  he  spoke,  a  terrible  qualm  of  doubt 
seized  him  as  he  remembered  the  letters  taken  at  Naseby. 
"  I'  faith,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence,  in  which  they  had 
hoped  his  agitation  was  gradually  lessening,  "I  should 
greatly  like  to  know  if  your  rebellion  hath  brought  you  sat- 
isfaction. It  lost  you  home  and  kith  and  kin ;  it  lost  you 
the  favor  and  the  company  of  your  friends  and  acquaint- 
ance ;  it  lost  you  reputation  and  health ,  it  hath  left  you 
maimed  and  disfigured  at  four-and-twenty.  What  is  your 
reward  ?  The  triumph  of  a  Parliament  and  the  downfall  of 
a  monarchy.  Let  me  tell  you  that  future  generations  will 
deem  you  both  a  fool  and  a  traitor." 

"  I  am  willing  to  be  accounted  both,  sir,"  said  Joscelyn, 
quietly,  "if  God  in  his  mercy  will  but  use  my  life  for  the 
good  of  the  country." 

There  was  a  ring  of  devotion  in  his  voice  which  silenced 
the  old  baronet.  Gentler  thoughts  seemed  to  awake  in  his 
mind,  and  as  Rosamond  stooped  to  kiss  his  forehead  a  re- 
membrance of  the  night  when  she  had  lain  at  death's  door 
flashed  across  his  brain.  A  curious  feeling  of  faintness  be- 
gan to  oppress  him  -,  he  saw  Joscelyn  cross  the  room  and 
open  the  casement-,  the  cold  spring  air  rushed  in  and  re- 
vived him  for  a  moment. 

"Lift  me  up,  my  son,"  he  said.  "Aye,  aye,  there's 
strength  in  you  yet.  I'd  liefer  have  your  left  arm  than 
some  men's  right.  Methinks  my  life  is  ending  with  the  war." 

The  words  proved  true.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  Dick 
chafed  his  hands,  that  Clemency  brought  restoratives,  that 
Rosamond  prayed  for  his  recovery.  He  lay  back  with 
closed  eyes  on  Joscelyn' s  breast,  from  time  to  time  faintly 
muttering  a  few  words.  Just  at  the  last,  as  if  defying  an 
accuser,  he  spoke  out  vehemently : 


502 

"  I  tell  you  I  love  my  son  I  Aye,  when  I  cursed  and  dis- 
owned him  I  yet  loved  him  !" 

Joscelyn  bent  forward  and  reverently  kissed  the  forehead 
of  the  dying  man  ;  and  at  that  Sir  Thomas  looked  up  once 
more,  with  a  smile  in  his  blue  eyes  which  meant  more  to 
his  son  than  many  words. 

Slowly  the  sun  sank  in  the  west,  and  twilight  stole  over 
the  landscape-,  the  room  grew  almost  dark,  the  watchers 
could  scarcely  discern  each  others'  faces,  but  the  old  war- 
rior had  passed  away  into  the  land  of  light. 


CHAPTER    XLI 

The  light  which  we  have  gained  was  given  us,  not  to  be  ever  staring 
on,  but  by  it  to  discover  onward  things  more  remote  from  our  knowl- 
edge.— MILTON. 

SIR  THEODORE  MAYERNE'S  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  Jos- 
celyn, spite  of  great  suffering  and  many  tedious  attacks  of 
illness,  lived  on,  while  England  passed  through  the  stormy 
years  which  ended  the  Stuart  dynasty. 

On  a  bright,  still  day  at  the  beginning  of  December,  in 
the  year  1697,  the  old  church-yard  of  Katterham  presented  a 
picturesque  scene.  The  service  was  just  over,  and  the 
people  in  holiday  trim  lingered  for  a  word  or  a  smile  from 
the  old  baronet  and  his  lady,  who,  with  a  few  guests  staying 
at  the  Court-house,  had  come  to  take  part  in  the  National 
Thanksgiving  for  the  Peace  of  Ryswick. 

"  Right  glad  am  I,"  said  Joscelyn,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
villagers,  "  that  we  kept  the  Thanksgiving  here  at  home 
rather  than  in  London.  John  Evelyn  will  bring  us  news  of 
the  gay  doings  there,  and  I  would  not  have  missed  this 
gathering  for  all  the  gold  in  the  new  Bank  of  England. 

"  Yes,  we  were  best  here,"  said  Clemency,  pausing  to 
greet  old  Morrison,  who  stood  at  the  gate. 

"  This  is  a  good  day  for  us,  Morrison,"  said  Joscelyn, 
giving  the  faithful  servant  his  hand.  "  England  hath  tri- 
umphed over  the  worst  of  her  foes,  and  the  French  King 
will,  methinks,  no  more  seek  to  meddle  with  our  Protestant 
succession." 

"  Eh,  sir.  But  it  was  grand  to  hear  the  folks  sing  the 
Old  Hundredth !"  said  Morrison.  "  Many's  the  strange 


504 

places  we  have  heard  that  in,  sir.  But  'twas  true  in  the 
past  days,  and  'tis  true  now." 

"It  ever  brings  Temperance  Turner  to  my  mind,"  said 
Joscelyn.  "  How  welcome  it  was  to  hear  his  rebec  in  the 
distance,  and  to  know  that  tidings  were  at  length  coming." 

Clemency  lifted  her  hazel  eyes  to  her  husband's,  recalling 
vividly  the  yellow-haired  lad  of  former  days  in  all  his 
youthful  strength  and  vigor.  But  in  the  spare  form  and 
noble  features  of  the  husband  who  for  more  than  fifty  years 
had  been  her  constant  companion  she  saw  something  in- 
finitely dearer.  There  was  still  the  same  bright,  hopeful 
look  in  the  blue  eyes,  and  a  buoyant  vigor  of  perpetual 
youth  in  the  aged  face,  with  its  mellow  coloring  and 
gentle,  kindly  expression.  While  all  that  was  stern,  all  that 
was  obstinate  or  proud  had  died  out  of  his  character,  and 
he  had  ripened  into  the  most  beautiful  of  all  good  things 
on  God's  earth — a  beautiful  old  age. 

"  The  service  was  shorter  than  I  had  looked  for,"  he 
said.  "  There  will  be  time  before  dinner  to  walk  to  White- 
hill.  Who  will  bear  me  company  ?" 

"  I  would  I  had  the  strength,  dear  heart,"  said  Clemency, 
smiling.  "  Fain  would  I  go  as  far  as  our  old  yew-tree,  and 
hear  with  you  the  robins  singing  in  the  wood ;  but  my 
walking  days  are  over.  Hester  and  I  will  go  in  and  rest 
and  have  my  grandson  for  company,  while  you  take  Dick 
and  the  others  for  your  daily  pilgrimage." 

"  He  hath  more  vigor  than  any  of  us,"  said  Dick,  his 
face  lighting  up  with  all  its  former  devotion  to  his  brother 
as  he  turned  to  Sir  William  Denham.  "  He  can  tire  out  his 
own  son  any  day.  Eh,  Tom  ?" 

"  I'  faith,  then,  we  will  leave  you  to  follow  at  your  leisure," 
said  Joscelyn,  with  a  laugh.  "  Mary  will  walk  on  briskly 
with  me,  and  we  will  bring  back  some  greenery  to  deck  the 
hall  for  this  evening's  merrymaking." 


5Q5 

His  orphan  niece,  Mary  Denham — the  only  child  left  by 
Arthur  and  Rosamond  —  was  glad  enough  to  avail  herself 
of  the  chance  of  a  quiet  talk  with  her  favorite  uncle.  Dur- 
ing the  last  twelve  years  they  had  been  the  closest  friends, 
and  she  had  found  at  the  Court-house  a  sympathy  and  love 
which  had  filled  her  life  with  happiness.  A  few  months 
after  the  death  of  Charles  II.,  Joscelyn,  after  living  five  or 
six  years  for  his  health's  sake  in  the  south  of  France,  had 
returned  to  England  better  and  stronger  than  he  had  ever 
hoped  to  be  again.  His  first  thought  had  been  to  seek  out 
Rosamond's  daughter,  whom  hitherto  he  had  only  been 
able  to  see  at  rare  intervals.  He  had  left  her  a  shy,  silent 
child ;  he  came  back  to  find  her  just  of  age,  with  all  the 
charm  of  a  thoughtful,  questioning  mind  that  will  not  be 
satisfied  with  surface  knowledge  or  conventional  life. 
From  that  time  she  had  spent  a  great  part  of  each  year 
at  Katterham,  and  had  become  like  a  daughter  to  Joscelyn 
and  Clemency,  filling  with  her  bright  companionship  the 
gap  that  had  been  left  in  the  home  when  Tom  and  his  wife 
and  children  had  gone  to  live  in  the  Dower-house. 

"  You  have  set  Morrison  and  dear  old  Charlotte  talking  of 
the  war,  sir,"  she  said,  joining  her  uncle  in  the  ghost  walk. 
"  I  heard  him  beginning  the  tale  of  Newbury  fight  as  he 
helped  her  back  into  the  Court-house." 

"  'Twas  the  Old  Hundredth  that  started  us,"  said  Joscelyn. 
"  I  can  hear  it  now  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  as  the 
troops  marched  to  the  siege  of  Winchester.  Temperance 
Turner  brought  me  the  news  that  your  mother  was  out  of 
danger,  and  like  to  live.  And  now,  dear  soul,  she  hath  been 
at  rest  these  many  years — ever  since  the  time  of  the  great 
plague  —  while  I  am  still  left.  Her  childhood  was  sad, 
but  I  verily  think,  Mary,  that  for  the  sixteen  years  of  her 
wedded  life  her  lot  was  the  happiest  that  could  well  have  been. 
Death  itself  severed  her  but  a  single  day  from  your  father." 


5Q6 

He  glanced  at  the  dark  eyes  and  brown  curls  of  his 
niece,  and  recalled  Arthur  Denham  bending  over  him  when 
he  struggled  back  to  the  consciousness  of  being  a  prisoner 
in  Farnham  Castle.  And  yet,  in  her  sweet,  pure  face,  with  its 
underlying  pathos,  there  was  much  that  reminded  him  of 
Rosamond  as  she  had  been  long,  long  ago  at  the  Shortell 
Manor — a  little,  lonely,  reserved  girl,  with  burning  thoughts 
seething  under  a  quiet  exterior. 

Mary  turned  to  him  with  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  They  were  married  in  this  church,"  she  said ;  "  yet  there 
must  have  been  many  things  at  that  time  to  divide  your 
opinions.  You  and  my  father  must  have  thought  very  dif- 
ferently about  the  King's  fate  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  'twas  a  subject  that  could  never 
be  named  betwixt  us,  though  naught  could  hinder  us  from 
being  true  friends  through  all  the  troubles  then  and  at  the 
Restoration.  But,  methinks,  were  your  father  here  now  he 
would  join  heartily  in  this  National  Thanksgiving." 

"Colonel  Algernon  Sydney  always  approved  of  the  exe- 
cution of  the  King,"  said  Mary,  "  though  not  of  the  way  in 
which  the  trial  was  arranged.  What  was  your  feeling,  sir, 
with  regard  to  it  ?" 

Joscelyn's  face  became  grave. 

"  I  deemed  his  death  a  necessity,"  he  said.  "  And  this  I 
know,  that  the  late  Protector — the  greatest  man  England 
hath  ever  seen — would  not  have  permitted  it  could  the 
country  have  been  saved  in  any  other  way.  He  had  a  sin- 
cere regard  for  his  Majesty,  he  labored  to  save  him ;  and 
had  it  not  been  for  the  King's  duplicity,  and  his  failure  to 
understand  or  to  put  faith  in  the  people,  the  execution 
would  never  have  taken  place.  He  died  like  a  Christian 
and  a  gentleman  -,  but  his  words  on  the  scaffold,  declaring 
that  the  people  ought  not  to  have  any  '  share  in  the  gov- 
ernment, that  is  nothing  pertaining  to  them,'  proved  that  he 


507 

could  never  have  been  anything  but  a  despot.  Believe  me, 
dear,  the  future  is  with  those  who  trust  the  people." 

"  Yet,  even  from  Colonel  Sydney  I  heard  much  against  the 
late  Protector,"  said  Mary ;  "  he,  too,  was  despotic  in  his 
turn." 

"Yes,  that  is  true,"  replied  her  uncle;  "yet  'tis  easy  to 
criticise  afterwards,  and  methinks  that  no  other  mortal 
could  possibly  have  steered  the  nation  safely  through  those 
stormy  seas,  and  have  brought  England  to  the  place  she  now 
holds  in  Europe.  He  has  his  reward.  But  the  world,  with 
its  usual  wisdom,  will  put  up  monuments  to  King  Charles 
while  Cromwell's  name  is  held  up  to  scorn,  his  life  slandered, 
his  body  dragged  to  Tyburn,  his  head  set  up  in  Westmin- 
ster Hall,  though  England,  without  his  aid,  would  now  have 
been  in  the  hands  of  the  pope  and  the  French  king.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  say  one  harsh  word  of  those  who  have 
long  left  this  world  ;  but  in  truth,  Mary,  my  old  blood  gets 
hot  even  now  when  I  read  in  the  Book  of  Common-prayer 
the  sickening,  servile  lies  ordered  to  be  read  on  the  3oth 
of  January." 

"  I  remember  you  never  go  to  church  on  that  day,  sir," 
said  Mary,  "  and  I  have  been  glad  to  follow  your  example." 

"The  service  for  the  2gth  of  May  is  discontinued  dur- 
ing King  William's  happy  reign,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  and  I 
would  that  both  could  be  forever  abolished.  There  are 
sundry  blots  on  our  noble  Prayer-book  that  I  shall  scarce 
live  to  see  reformed,  but  that  perchance  you  may." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mary,  shuddering  a  little,  as  she  recalled 
some  past  scene,  "  I  can  well  understand  how  people  must 
have  grieved  over  the  beheading  of  King  Charles.  A  death 
such  as  that  is  a  horrible  thing." 

"  My  dear,  I  am  an  old  soldier,"  said  Joscelyn,  "  and  have 
seen  death  after  a  much  more  ghastly  fashion ;  if  you  dwell 
on  the  mere  torture  of  it,  what  can  ever  come  near  the  suf- 


508 

ferings  of  Colonel  Hampden  during  those  last  days  of  ago- 
ny? God  forgive  me  if  I  am  wrong,  but  I  cannot  think  the 
King's  sufferings  were  to  be  compared  with  the  misery  he 
had  brought  to  thousands  of  better  and  more  trustworthy 
men.  I  cannot,  as  the  Prayer-book  says,  '  reflect  upon  sp 
foul  an  act  with  horror  and  astonishment,'  or  deem  that 
men  like  Cromwell  and  Ireton,  Bradshaw  and  Hutchinson 
were  'cruel  and  bloody  men,'  'sons  of  Belial,'  'imbruing 
their  hands  in  the  innocent  blood  of  God's  anointed,'  and 
'guilty  of  a  barbarous  murder.'  Nor  can  I  think  it  right 
for  English  folk  to  foist  upon  the  nation  the  evils  due  to  the 
Stuart  tyranny,  and  to  pray  that  they  may  follow  '  the  ex- 
ample of  this  thy  blessed  martyr.'  For  stealing  a  sheep  we 
hang  a  starving  man.  Is  not  the  tyrant  who  steals  the  just 
rights  of  Englishmen  more  blameworthy  ?" 

Mary  was  fain  to  agree  to  this ;  but  in  her  heart  she 
looked  forward  to  a  distant  future  when  war  should  cease 
and  the  death  penalty  be  rarely  exacted. 

"  Do  not  let  us  dwell  on  the  dark  past  to-day,"  said  her 
uncle,  after  a  pause,  "  but  rather  turn  to  the  sunrise  which 
now  gladdens  the  land." 

She  noticed  that  his  voice,  which  had  grown  eager  and 
passionate  as  he  spoke  of  the  strife  of  by-gone  days,  sank 
once  more  to  its  habitually  gentle,  happy  tone;  and  as  he 
gazed  over  the  wide  view  from  the  hill-top  and  drank  in 
the  fresh  wintry  air,  his  eyes,  which  had  flashed  and  dilated 
with  all  the  fire  of  eager  youth,  grew  tender  and  calm 
again. 

The  day  was  bright  and  clear,  and  as  they  walked  home 
they  could  plainly  see  the  new  St.  Paul's  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

"  I  have  watched  it  building  year  after  year,"  said  Josce- 
lyn,  "  and  Mr.  Evelyn  tells  me  that  he  is  going  to  the  first 
service  there  on  Sunday." 


5Q9 

"  You  saw  the  old  St.  Paul's  in  flames,  too,  did  you  not, 
sir  ?"  said  Mary. 

"Aye,  my  dear;  a  terrible  sight,  even  at  this  distance. 
Truly  we  have  lived  through  troubled  times ;  but  I  thank 
God  that  he  hath  spared  me  to  .see  not  only  the  destruction 
of  the  old,  but  the  ushering  in  of  the  new.  I  have  lived  to  see 
wider  toleration,  a  greater  freedom  for  the  press,  and,  above 
all,  the  transference  of  the  supreme  power  from  the  King  to 
the  House  of  Commons.  Tis  a  great  thing  to  be  spared  to 
old  age  and  to  see  God's  truth  prevailing  by  slow  degrees." 

Mary,  who  knew  how  much  suffering  and  trouble  he  had 
lived  through  with  undaunted  courage  and  faith,  felt  braced 
by  his  words,  and  better  able  to  face  that  vista  of  long  life 
which  seldom  looks  attractive  when  the  first  brightness  of 
youth  has  passed.  The  man  who  had  made  so  much  of  a 
crippled  and  shattered  existence  was  like  a  tower  of  strength 
to  all  other  sufferers. 

They  paused  in  the  little  shaw  by  the  wayside  to  gather 
holly  and  yew  for  the  merry-making ;  then  entering  the  park 
once  more,  stood  for  a  minute  looking  across  the  beautiful 
stretch  of  heath  and  common  and  undulating  wooded  coun- 
try to  the  far  distance,  where  in  the  wintry  light  the  Chil- 
tern  hills  could  be  faintly  .discerned. 

Joscelyn's  thoughts  travelled  back  to  the  noble  old  house 
and  the  little  country  church  among  the  beech  woods  of 
Buckinghamshire,  and  once  again  he  seemed  to  hear  Hamp- 
den's  manly  voice  quoting  the  beautiful  lines  of  Cervantes  : 
"This  peace  is  the  true  end  of  war." 

Mary  listened  as  they  walked  home  to  some  of  those  stir- 
ring tales  of  the  great  patriot  which  her  uncle  loved  to  tell 
her,  and  as  they  entered  the  study  at  the  Court-house,  and 
rejoined  the  rest  of  the  party,  she  was  not  surprised  that  her 
aunt  divined,  by  a  single  glance  at  his  eager  face,  the  subject 
of  the  conversation. 


5io 

"  You  two  have  been  talking  of  the  old  times  !"  she  said, 
with  a  loving  look  in  her  sweet  eyes. 

"  Yes,  dear  heart,"  said  Joscelyn,  stooping  to  kiss  her, 
and  with  his  skilful  left  hand  placing  a  tiny  spray  from  the 
old  yew-tree  in  the  white  folds  of  her  neckerchief  ;  "  I  have 
been  telling  Mary  how  you  and  I  owe  our  life's  happiness 
to  one  that  was  foremost  in  striving  to  right  the  wrong  and 
to  set  the  oppressed  free." 


THE    END 


IN  THE  GOLDEN  DAYS. 

A  Novel.     By  EDNA  LYALL.    16rao,  Half  Cloth,  75  cents. 

Miss  Lyall  has  given  us  a  vigorous  study  of  such  life  and  character 
as  are  really  worth  reading  about.  The  central  figure  of  her  story  is  Al- 
gernon Sydney;  and  this  figure  she  invests  with  a  singular  dignity  and 
power.  He  always  appears  with  effect,  but  no  liberties  are  taken  with 
the  facts  of  his  life.  The  plot  is  adapted  with  great  felicity  to  them. 
His  part  in  it,  absolutely  consistent  as  it  is  with  historical  truth,  gives  it 
reality  as  well  as  dignity.  Some  of  the  scenes  are  remarkably  vivid.  The 
escape  is  an  admirable  narrative,  which  almost  makes  one  hold  one's 
breath  as  one  reads. — Spectator,  London. 

We  commend  it  heartily  to  all  seeking  for  good  reading. — Christian 
Intelligencer,  N.  Y. 

A  singularly  original  and  powerful  novel.  .  .  .  Miss  Lyall  writes  with 
great  depth  of  thought,  solemn  purpose,  and  has  a  masculine  grasp  of 
English.  ...  If  she  continues  as  she  has  begun,  she  must  arrive  at  a  re- 
markably high  plane  among  British  female  writers. — Independent,  N.  Y. 

A  piece  of  finished  writing,  with  delightful  flashes  of  description  and 
charmingly  human  conversation.  The  writer  has  evidently  little  sympathy 
with  the  cheerless  phases  of  new -school  writing,  and  her  story  certainly 
goes  far  to  justify  her  antagonisms. — Brooklyn  Times. 

The  story  has  a  good  deal  of  swing  and  movement,  and  is  prettily 
written.  .  .  .  The  volume  is  thoroughly  healthful  in  tone,  and  may  safely 
be  commended  to  the  general  reader. —  Conner,  Boston. 

The  background  in  which  the  story  is  set  is  as  rich  and  brilliant  as  a 
landscape  by  Gainsborough.  The  plot  is  developed  with  much  skill,  and 
some  of  the  situations  are  stirringly  dramatic. — Philadelphia  Record. 

Praise  seems  superfluous  in  referring  to  anything  from  the  pen  of 
Edna  Lyall.  .  .  .  The  plot  of  the  story  is  skilfully  conceived  and  ad- 
mirably worked  out.  The  literary  style  is  excellent,  the  characters  being 
very  fairly  drawn,  and  the  reader  who  takes  up  the  book  will  have  a 
veritable  pleasure  in  the  reading  of  it. — Christian  at  Work,  N.  Y. 

It  is  an  unusually  well-constructed  and  readable  novel,  and  the  reader 
will  close  the  story  with  regret. — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

Miss  Lyall  in  this  book  has  shown  a  clever  analysis  of  motive,  a 
naturalness  in  her  descriptive  passages,  and  a  penetrating  conception  of 
human  life  and  character. — Boston  Advertiser. 

This  story  is  a  good  one,  well  conceived  and  well  executed,  written  in 
excellent  English,  and  with  a  power  of  delineating  mental  emotions  that 
must  carry  Miss  Lyall  to  a  leading  position  among  novel  writers. — Brook- 
lyn Eagle. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

VST  The  above  work  is  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  the  publishers, 
postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of 
the  price. 


BY  MARY  E.  WILKINS. 


JANE  FIELD.     A  Novel.     Illustrated.     16mo,  Cloth,  Orna- 
mental, $1  25. 
YOUNG  LUCRETIA,  and  Other  Stories.     Illustrated.     Post 

8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 
GILES  COREY,  YEOMAN.     A  Play.     Illustrated.     32mo, 

Cloth,  Ornamental,  50  cents. 
A  NEW  ENGLAND  NUN,  and  Other  Stories.     16mo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  $1  25. 
A  HUMBLE  ROMANCE,  and  Other  Stories.     16mo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  $1  25. 

The  pathos  of  New  England  life,  its  intensities  of  repressed  feeling,  its 
homely  tragedies  and  its  tender  humor,  have  never  been  better  told  than 
by  Mary  E.  Wilkins,  and  in  her  own  field  she  stands  to-day  without  a 
rival. — Boston  Courier. 

It  takes  just  such  distinguished  literary  art  as  Mary  E.  Wilkins  possesses 
to  give  an  episode  of  New  England  its  soul,  pathos,  and  poetry. — N.  Y. 
Times. 

The  simplicity,  purity,  and  quaintness  of  these  stories  set  them  npart  in 
a  niche  of  distinction  where  they  have  no  rivals. — Literary  World,  Boston. 

The  author  has  the  unusual  gift  of  writing  a  short  story  which  is  com- 
plete in  itself,  having  a  real  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end. —  Observer, 
N.  Y. 

A  gallery  of  striking  studies  in  the  humblest  quarters  of  American 
country  life.  No  one  has  dealt  with  this  kind  of  life  better  than  Miss 
Wilkins.  Nowhere  are  there  to  be  found  such  faithful,  delicately  drawn, 
sympathetic,  tenderly  humorous  pictures. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

The  charm  of  Miss  Wilkins's  stories  is  in  her  intimate  acquaintance  and 
comprehension  of  humble  life,  and  the  sweet  human  interest  she  feels  and 
makes  her  readers  partake  of,  in  the  simple,  common,  homely  people  she 
draws. — Springfield  Republican. 

The  author  has  given  us  studies  from  real  life  which  must  be  the  result 
of  a  lifetime  of  patient,  sympathetic  observation.  .  .  .  No  one  has  done 
the  same  kind  of  work  so  lovingly  and  so  well. — Christian  Register, 
Boston. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

«f  The  above  ivorks  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  pre- 
paid, to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


